According to my mother I am a closet Goth chick. I am not exceedingly pale, I do not wear all black makeup or black fingernail polish. I hardly wear makeup at all, and my wardrobe does not consist solely of black fabric and shoes. In spite of all this I must unfortunately agree with my mother. While I make solid attempts not to be a regular doomsday prophetess I am definitely not Pollyanna,though there are people who labor under the mistaken belief that I am. I try not to disabuse the majority of these people because knowing the truth would only cause them pain and heartache.I would like to imagine that I have become a slightly more well-adjusted adult version of Wednesday. I don’t sugarcoat the harsher aspects of my life very much. According to a friend that has known me since before I started kindergarten I have been “telling it like it is” since the age of four and if you find my sometimes decided lack of political correctness and opinions shocking that is your problem and not mine. This is not to say that I do not possess the skill known as tact. I have it and have been known to apply it liberally on several occasions. However should I meet someone who strikes me as hopelessly stupid and downright uncouth, for instance the stranger who asks me if it is possible for me to have sex before even knowing my name, tact and politeness are going out the window without a backward glance, of that you can be certain. When I was younger I used to get upset when mom called me Wednesday but now I realize that there are much worse people to be compared to.