If you haven't already heard, Jessica likes herself. Not at all in that creepy, marry your own reflection, type of liking. She just likes herself, plain and simple. She likes her attitude, her eyes, her nose, , her forehead, and even her hair. (At times it's slightly dry, but she was still perfect.) For someone that enjoys herself so much, it's naturally assumed that Jessica will always put Jessica before anyone else. 

     Duh, I mean, who else could be as fabulous as her?

     No one. Even her pet cat Oswald, who was just the most adorable thing on the planet. Yes, was. He now looks like a wrinkled sock that's been repeatedly run over by an entire unit of police cars. Jessica really isn't even sure when he made the transition from fitting into a shoe to becoming the bottom half of a slipper. It just happened, much like meeting her friend's mother's sister's daughter. Or to put it shortly, meeting her friend's cousin.  

    "I've got a tennis match in two hours, so, if it isn't too much trouble, could you maybe, possibly, show my cousin around town? Just, y'know, make her feel at home? She's Korean, if that makes any difference. You guys could bond about seaweed and stuff." Jessica ponders this silently, sipping her cup of coffee, gazing indifferently into her companion's wide brown eyes. God, she looks so hot today, if only Mario's eyes were just a bit bigger. Moving aside the topic of her awe inspiring beauty, what exactly will she gain from all of this? A pat on the back? A few mushrooms? Maybe a green spotted egg?

    "Look Mario, I've got no clue how you have a Korean cousin, considering you're a very short Italian man, but I don't see what I'm getting out of this. I don't want anymore of your radioactive mushrooms. I fed one to Oswald and he looks awful." The whole transformation was gradual, but jeez, it was like watching Chris Tucker age.  

    "Mamma mia! Why would you do that? I told you to never eat them! They're for decoration!"

    "Mamma mia? Are you serious? Reverting back to your stereotypical accent? You were born in San Francisco. Deal with it." The plumber rubs his forehead, pulling off his red, trademark cap and throwing it on the table with a force only rivaled by a giant, fire breathing turtle. God, she has some weird friends. 

    "Jessica, I vow to never ask anything of you again. Will you please, please, please just do this for me?" This was certainly a hard decision. One favor, and never being asked a single thing again, allowing her more free time to admire her complete, and total perfection. Such an impossibly difficult decision. 

   "Where do I meet her?" 

   "Yah hah!" He jumps up from his chair, raising a fist in the air. 

   "She'll be coming to this cafe in ten minutes, good luck!" Snatching up his cap and giving a final bow, he departs, jumping around at insane heights and smashing bricks. God she has some weird friends. 

    Looking into the clear glass of her cup, Jessica realizes that maybe she shouldn't have agreed to this. What if Mario's cousin is overcome with envy at the sight of her insatiable attractiveness? Or what if Mario's cousin is actually a deranged serial killer obsessed with taxidermy? She's too pretty to die! However, being stuffed would immortalize her flawlessness . . . no! She was being completely irrational, because there's no way Mario would ever be related to anyone that crazy. Although . . . there was Luigi, who wouldn't stop buying huge mansions only to become lost and call for Mario's assistance. 

    She reaches for her cup, rotating it around clockwise. There was always the possibility that Mario's cousin was just a regular, cute, little Korean girl, with a nice smile and long, black hair. Jessica's head tilts to the side in thought. 

    Nah.

   But then, she's proved wrong. 

   A chair scrapes harshly against the floor, and down flops a perfectly average, albeit insanely adorable (even to Jessica), Asian woman. However, her cynical prediction wasn't completely true. This girl had short, light brown, hair, and her smile wasn't nice. It was astounding, (Jessica does reluctantly agree) just so absolutely, heart-wrenchingly, epic, that Jessica's conscience finally stops thinking about how awesome Jessica is to admire the girl's perfectly curved eyes, and her brilliant, porcelain teeth. For the first time in Jessica's life, she isn't at all jealous of a seemingly more or equally attractive girl. She feels something, though. There's a throbbing in her chest, and her stomach feels like she swallowed Oswald trying to tone his flabby body with a Shake Weight. 

   It's definitely not jealously.

   Jessica doesn't like it. It's abnormal, and makes her feel so much like she did when she first moved to America, like she's back to being some creepy kid playing on the swings alone because nobody wanted to play with Jessica High Strung. Like she's back to being insecure, and nervous, and so, so, small.

   Forgettable.

   It's a horrible, awful feeling, but not unwelcome. 

  Jessica offers her hand, displaying an openly pleased expression, the first she's had since grade two, when her ego blew up to the size of Fat Bastard in that ridiculously inappropriate Austin Powers movie. 

    "My name's Jessica." The hand is taken, and wow, even this girl's hands are unbelievably soft. 

   "Tiffany." Jessica's heart pulses deeply at the name.

   A definitely welcome feeling, indeed. 

Boots, and cats, and boots, and cats, and boots, and cats, and boots.