This morning, M's sartorial choices revealed a somewhat disturbing dimension to her character, no matter how we read it.
Either she's going to spend her life with her polo collar popped (and given the genetic pool she's drawing from, she's probably not going to be cool enough for that), or SHE'S A VAMPIRE.
And not one of those sissy, sparkly vampires either.* A real scary-caped, Transylvanian, fanged menace (sans fangs for now).
But if her teeth start to come in pointy, I'm ready for her; I'm going to up my garlic intake.
*Man, I hate those books. One should be able to say "vampire" and get the whole Count Dracula thing without having to explain that you don't mean whiny, overly pretty stalker vampires from Forks. Forks. I ask you. I mean, I could understand it if the plot was that Forks was SO BORING that teenagers started eating themselves in desperation.