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As she walks into a room jam-packed with people, all eyes are on her. The eyes admire her dazzling, luscious, vivacious, blonde hair, in which she flings back off of her shoulder with her soft, pastel hand.
Her bedroom is more superior than the ???run of the mill??? teens bedroom. Against the white walls is her king canopy bed. Aligned on her wall are medals, trophies and plaques from horseback riding. Her most priced possession is the plaque she was awarded from modeling school.
As if this isn't sufficient, she carries with her everywhere her Pom-chi in her Louis Vuitton handbag. As she flings her hair back, all attention is drawn to her diamond watch her father gave her, for her sixteenth birthday.
She pulls into the driveway in her Bugatti Veyron (which her father paid 1.25 million dollars for), and begins to walk to her mansion carrying ten, entirely full shopping bags. At the moment I was dusting her furniture in her bedroom, and she walked in and threw the bags onto the bed that I had just prepared.
She began walking away. She flung her hair, and turned around and said, "Thanks Hun." Although she said thank you, I by no means really felt appreciated. I turned around and stared at her luxurious jewelry, "Spoiled brat."
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