“Don’t wrinkle the leather!” Amber shouts from across the room.
First of all, does leather even wrinkle? I roll my eyes at her back. We had spent all morning at the fort and the torture was finally and mercifully over. My leg muscles were cramping from kneeling for so long and my palms were chafed from hours of grinding corn. Thankfully every kid who came by left with both eyeballs intact, so even though my body was groaning in protest, I counted the morning a success.
My ‘authentic’ outfit had consisted of a beaded leather smock-like thingy that barely covered the important areas. A shorter girl might have had a better chance at modesty, but on me it hit high mid-thigh. I may not know if leather wrinkles, but after a morning spent tugging at it I can tell you tha...
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