Once upon a time there were six sextuplet sisters. The were named Wendy, Sally, Debra, Fiona, Angela and Gail. They all looked exactly the same when they were born. But as they grew they started to look different, one from the other. How they looked ended up being how others saw them, even if they weren’t really like that.
WENDY
Wendy had high, arched eyebrows so people thought she was always wondering. But she was not. She was wonderful and winsome and woeful and wicked and wired and wonky. But she was not wondering.
SALLY
Sally always looked like she was trying poop so people thought she was stressed. But she was not. She was scary and soulful and silly and sacred and sturdy and scandalous. But she was not stressed.
DEBRA
Debra had blue hair and green skin and so people thought she was depressed. But she was not. She was doubtful and dangerous and dorky and definitive and debatable and dramatic. But she was not depressed.
FIONA
Fiona had a head shaped like a football so people thought she was a football fan. But she was not. She was fastidious and fearless and fabulous and farty and forgetful and forebearing. But she wasn’t a football fan.
ANGELA
Angela didn’t smile much so people thought she was always angry. But she was not. She was angular and ambitious and absolute and ambulatory and arboreal and agnostic. But she wasn’t angry.
GAIL
Gail liked dark makeup so people thought she was goth. But she was not. She was garrulous and grand and gifted and goofy and gleeful and gorgeous. But she wasn’t goth.
The six sextuplet sisters loved sailing and shuffleboard and star gazing and sharing souffles and sauntering together. But they didn’t like being judged only by their looks. Their parents taught them to pass by people who did that and instead just go forward being who they wanted to be, always believing in each other and being best buddies. They had a fabulous family and faithful friends because of that.
The End