Let's be 1905, but not 1917.
I'm Emily, I'm 18, and I come from a reasonably large town in Staffordshire. I'm an A-Level student, and an aspiring linguist, when it suits me. When it doesn't suit me, I'm a wannabe musician who tries to be well-read and maybe a bit cultured. Hopefully off to the University of Nottingham to study French and Spanish this September, if I knuckle down and get the grades. Surgically attached to my iPod, first class procrastinator. Frank Turner is a bearded god, and without Belle and Sebastian, I'd have been a very miserable person.
Dad walks into the room. Me and twin sister are doing work.
Dad: Well?
Me:…
Sister:…
Dad: Well?
Me: Well?
Dad: Well?
Sister: Well what?
Dad: Well?
Me: Don’t know what you’re talking about, Dad.
Dad: Well.
Sister: Well what?
Dad: Well.
Sister: You had your hair cut yesterday, Dad, no need to ask for comments now.
Me: ….
Me: You’ve had your hair cut?
Sister: 
Dad: Well.
Dad walks out.
