Between pushes into the rug beneath her expensive pink flip flops you hear her cell phone notifications popping and ringing as she texts. Her pressing gets more and more expressive.
“What is that?” She mutters to herself.
Grande props the flip flop you’re snared on up and onto her reciprocal knee. She slides her luxurious and pristine flip flop off her white polish on tan toes and rotates the sole skyward. You finally see her smooth face and large eyes look down on you, her hair is up in a ponytail that swings down and sways right above you like vines hanging off a tree in the garden of eden.
Her deep brown eyes dilate from excitement, “Ahh haa haa! It’s a mini boy!” She joyfully calls out with a bright angelic proclamation.
Her tone deepens and her smile deteriorates into a confused stare, “Huh? Is this actually a mini man?”
You are paralyzed by her face and eye contact (as well as the tape), and you are completely at her mercy.
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