"So you're wearing that to the red carpet. Really, Sonny? Really?"
Sonny looked at herself in the mirror and tried to ignore Chad, because he was just trying to psych her out, playing his evil little reindeer games. "I look good."
"Eh." He shook his hand in a kinda-sorta-maybe gesture. "Maybe, but to premier
Fashionista, shouldn't you wear something more…
fashionista-able?"
"Don't you mean fashionable?"
"You know what I mean." He stroked at non-existent facial hair and nodded. "I mean, your dress…"
"Is pretty!"
"Eh." Kinda-sorta-maybe again. "And those straps kind of give you linebacker shoulders."
"Chad!"
"Well, hey, I mean there's always the chance you'll need to tackle someone on the red carpet."
"Chad!"
"
Fashionista herself on the Worst Dressed List. Ironic, doncha think?"
"At least I'm not wearing argyle."
"Argyle is
awesome, okay, and I'm not wearing it on a red carpet."
"Because you weren't invited."
"Like I'd even go to your stupid premier."
"Like I'd even invite you."
"Like I'd want you to invite me."
"Like I'd want you to want me to invite you."
"Psh." Chad scowled. "And have you even looked at the back? I mean it's all… low and swoopy and… shimmery."
Sonny turned, trying to watch herself in the mirror over her own shoulder. "I think my dress is fine."
"Really, Sonny?"
"
Really, Chad."
"Really. Well, all right. Have fun walking the red carpet. By yourself. In your shimmery linebacker dress."
Sonny sighed. "Chad, do you want to come
with me?"
"Psh. No. I just thought maybe you'd want a ride in my awesome convertible."
"Really, Chad?" She rolled her eyes and walked out of the dressing room, then paused. "If you're coming, you're not wearing an argyle sweater vest."
"Got my tux in my dressing room."
"Really, Chad?"
"Really."