la vie en rose.

Running her fingers through her bubblegum-pink hair, Mimi let out a long-suffering sigh. Normally, she would've loved the heat, but on that certain summer day, it was just ridiculously hot. And it wasn't that Mimi wasn't used to American summers -- which were always significantly hotter and brighter than those in Japan -- it was just hot.

Palmon squirming in her backpack, the Digimon's gangly limbs digging into Mimi's back as she moved, wasn't exactly making the situation any better either. "Sorry Palmon," she murmured under her breath, just loud enough that it was audible for her Digimon counterpart. If it was uncomfortable for her, Mimi didn't even want to think about how it must have been for Palmon, smothered in the fabric of Mimi's bag. Letting out another sigh, Mimi stopped her pace and swung her backpack onto one shoulder, tugging the green creature out into her arms.

"I guess I'll have to carry you. Can't exactly tell people that I have a stuffed toy following me around," Mimi said, ignoring the scandalized noise that Palmon made upon being called a stuffed toy and immediately shushing her. They pair were already receiving enough stares from people passing by -- whether it was from how strange the "toy" looked or because they thought it was weird for a grown girl to carry around said toy, or a combination of both, Mimi didn't care.

Wrapping her arms around the Digimon's middle, Mimi carried Palmon as though she was carrying a particularly heavy sack of flour. Which really wasn't much different to what was happening, because Mimi wasn't the strongest of girls and Palmon definitely wasn't the lightest of Digimon. "You better appreciate this, Palmon," she grumbled petulantly, glaring down at the pink-flowered head.

"I've met a few new people, no new Digidestined though. But they're still really nice, even though I have to either hide Palmon or lie and say that she's a stuffed toy... which is almost always really awkward since people don't expect an 18 year old to carry around toys, heh."

"Arm wrestle?!"

There were only a few days left until the Valentine's Day Ball, and like always, Mimi had left all of her shopping and planning to pretty much the last figurative minute. She spent the majority of the morning running in and out of boutiques, trying to find the perfect dress -- pink, of course -- along with shoes and accessories.

Contrary to popular belief, Mimi wasn't stupid. Sure, she wasn't book smart, but she also wasn't an idiot. So when snarky, pretentious sales-girls tried to sell her discounted stuff for full price, thinking that she was just some ditzy little girl with daddy's credit card, Mimi had more fun than she would've liked to admit calling them out on it. Because if Mimi was an expert at anything, it was fashion. 

Her feet were beginning to ache and the bags that were was carrying were beginning to dig painfully into the skin of her arms, and really, Mimi had little to no pain tolerance. Finding a bench, Mimi plopped down ungracefully, letting out a sigh and letting her eyes close shut for a moment. It really was hard being a girl.