Omniscient as a Satellite and sudden as the shaky-fingered dusk, you have never heard of me, and maybe you aren't quite as clever and kind as I or millions of others from every tattered taffeta town across all this American raucous make you out to be, but that doesn't matter so much.

Upon asking any of my close friends or even casual acquaintances to describe me, the responses will be homogeneous; "Laura is tiny, she is angry, she has a hair bow in every color, and she loves One Direction, especially Harry Styles." (should anyone wish to cross-reference, enjoy this article by my fine friend)

Being a fan of One Direction, especially as a young adult, epitomizes an aspect of girlhood too often abandoned; not giving a damn.

The evergreen British Boy Band has initiated spirited Karaoke sessions in the children's department of J. C. Penney and on car rides back to college from the local grocery store. When I was in the hospital, dozens of friends who were stuck in class and unable to visit sent me memes and pictures of the band. One of my dear friends even created a petition for One Direction to visit me to provide encouragement for me as I recover from a long term illness.

I make no claim that the lyrics to their songs or the lilt to their tones pass as profound, but there's something to be said a gaggle of gawky girls screeching "that's what makes you beautiful" with voices broader than cirrus and cumulus combined, hands almost as soft as the snow's.