These books indelibly scarred me by establishing deeply bizarre expectations for a particularly unrealistic adolescence that I am still trying to come to grips with missing. In retrospect, Jessica's teenage life looks like a lot more fun, while Elizabeth seems a bit like a neurotic, miserable, misplaced martyr figure with sparkling aquamarine eyes and a red Spider Fiat, but hey. Elizabeth would never have been friends with cruel, spoiled, predestined cocaine addict Lila Fowler! Elizabeth's finer nature meant she hung around with poor bespectacled Enid, even though she was ugly and boring. O, Jessica! O, Elizabeth! How unjust it seemed at the time that I must share my name with the wanton airhead twin, while brainy, responsible, wonderful Elizabeth wrote for the school newspaper, and clearly had all her kind, charitable, writerly priorities in perfect place. As it is, I cannot hold an informed conversation with members of my cohort about the Snorks or Family Ties, and I spend all my free time on a book-themed social networking site. Nancy Drew was my angel in first grade by third, the Wakefield sisters were my guiding light, and if it weren't for them, I'd be television literate today. "Francine Pascal," or whoever actually wrote these books, taught me how to read.
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