At this point, I think moving to some remote island through my retirement is the best choice. Remind me to ask Minhyuk if I can tag along the next time he falls off the face of the Earth. I don't think anyone would really miss either of us. (Bomi thinks he's able to afford all of those pricey trips because he's embezzling company funds, but who knows.)

As for now, I just have to make it through the rest of the day, and wait until I can go back home and put a little more thought into this ty plan. In my defense, this all would've worked out much better -- at least for the time being -- if my parents didn't coordinate an entire marriage in my absence. I used to think this kind of thing only happened in dramas, and, quite frankly, Zico doesn't seem like the type of person I could fall in love with, regardless of how long this entire thing carries out.  

See, so I'm the victim in all of this. An unsuspecting pawn in the ty game of life. 

It's Sunhee's wild hair flip directly into my face that brings me back to reality, and makes me realize I just lost out on a few seconds of escape time just for this inner dialogue. 

When my eyes finally recover from Sunhee's extensions nearly damaging my corneas, I half hope her hot pink press on nails and mile high hair is enough to distract everyone from me jumping out of the nearest window. 

But with what's laying out right in front of me, I realize I'll have to post-pone it, at least for a few minutes. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that Sunhee already has the hots for Kyung, even though her stilettos make him look like a 12 year old boy in front of her. I'm not surprised. She chews up men like him: easy and stupid but cute. I haven't known him for long, but I know he's no better. 

It's really a tragedy how Kyung's becoming less and less attractive as the days pass, as I learn more and more about his disappointing ual preferences. I really thought we had something special going here. 

"Is this the cutie convention, because, if so, I know exactly why you're here."

Surprisingly, it's not Kyung who's saying this. It's beyond me how Sunhee's learned all of these charming pick-up lines. Kyung looks like puddy in her hands when she says this, which only validates my previous points. 

I'm almost too mentally exhausted -- all thanks to my amazing day with Zico -- to intervene and put up a fight, but then I realize that it's me who Kyung thinks is talking to him. That changes a few things. I can't help but feel insulted that he'd believe that she's me, what with all of the hairspray and perfume and Gucci. (We have the same face but still!) It's almost as offensive as Zico's useless self standing off to the side, laughing to himself even though he's caught up in this as much as I am. 

Really, am I the only normal one here?

Kyung smiles cheekily at Sunhee's comment, and the fact that he's as tall as a gummy bear doesn't help him figure out for himself that I'm standing right here, completely horrified by it all. He tilts his head to the side and giggles the way a lovesick preteen does does when the hunkiest boy in the school asks her to the spring semi-formal. 

Kyung stuffs a hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around a mug printed "Employee of the Year Every Year" with some letters smudged off from time. He has a pair of bright magenta lips stamped on his cheek, but I know Sunhee doesn't mind even if she notices it. It won't stop her as much as a wife and family won't stop her. (Some other fond memories I'll talk about on the next rainy day in.)

And that's why I'm the one supposedly engaged to Zico. This is one solid reason why you should just drop out of school while you can and invest all of your allowance in press-on nails and overpriced extensions. Look how easy Sunhee has it. I spent years studying hard in college, and look where that got me. God, I should really write a book. 

When Sunhee reaches out to play with one of the strings on Kyung's hoodie, it finally hits me that maybe it'd be wise to do something before it's too late. I grab onto what I can, which happens to be a bleached hair extension dangling from her pony tail, and I tug my sister back into the office, kicking the door closed in Kyung's erted face and Zico's good-for-nothing self laughing about God knows what. 

I push Sunhee as far into the room as I can and then open the door again shutting it behind my back before she can catch up. For some reason, the lock is conveniently placed on the outside, which doesn't make much sense security wise, but isn't something I'm about to complain about. Not now, at least. 

I find Kyung and Zico still standing in front of the door, both laughing about some joke Kyung apparently read on his desk calendar this morning. Still recovering from his lame joke, Kyung's eyes curiously drift over to me. They immediately switch into that flirty gaze of his. It's amazing how that works. 

"Why did you change your outfit?" he says to me. "You looked good in that skirt."

If he really believes I can change my clothes in under five seconds, I'm not the only one with a serious issue at hand. 

His arm overlaps my shoulders, pulling me to his side. I shrug off his arm before it can get too comfortable where it is, and grimace (so not the time for this), moving over to Zico instead. It's scary that my idea of running away to safety is at Zico's side.

From behind us, I hear Sunhee pound hard on the door, making everyone's shoulders jump, including those just passing by. I'm mostly surprised by the fact that she's risking a ruined mannicure for this. "Let me out, Dahee! What the heck is wrong with you?!"

Evidently, all of Sunhee's acupuncture appointments and expensive Thai massages haven't done much to change her short temper. Some things money can't buy. Case and point.

Good thing I'm used to it by now. Kyung looks kind of scared, though.

"You'll come out once this is all solved," I tell her, waving my hands about as if she can see them. "Just, I dunno, do yoga or something. You enjoy that, right?"

"No!" Sunhee shrieks, her voice calling forth the greatest fears in all of us. I won't be surprised if a hot pink jet crashes into the ceiling any time now. Sometimes she calls over her private jet just because she's running late to her mannicure appointments, or because she's feeling Italian (Italian food from Italy). She may not be capable of d