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Bella attends her classes with faultless punctuality, every time. She sits in the second or third row on an aisle in the middle section of seats, in the classes that take place in big auditorium lecture halls like the main section of Bio; she's willing to put herself closer to the professors in smaller classes like OS and of course her flute chair (third; she hasn't been quite ridiculously showoffy enough to climb beyond yet) is assigned. But right now, she is in Bio, learning tidbits about auxin and tropisms that the textbook didn't cover fully. She's running at about one and a half speed, just enough that she can trivially listen to and process the lecture against her memory of the text while also permitting some mind-wandering. She liiiiiikes her cognitive speedup power.
"Not necessarily, but ideally you'd have some idea - where you want to wear it, what season, if it needs to be machine washable, that sort of thing," Bella says. "And he needs measurements too."
"I can tell," Janine dares to comment. Bridget grins at her.
"What colors do you like? What fabrics? How much skin do you want to show?" Bella presses.
"Purple, I don't know, and... you know, I'm not sure," she says musingly.
"My boyfriend is the kind of person to consider taking an 'I'm not sure' there and turning it into 'see how much dress you can make out of a roll of dyed dental floss'," Bella says dryly. "I advise you to pick a minimum neckline and hemline."
"Lemme know when you have everything you want to specify picked out, and I'll tell him," Bella says cheerfully.
Bella puts her dresses away and sits back down on the beanbag. "Good good."