Miranda's mannerisms are that of the fortysomething chaperone. Who invited her, much less waited in front of her house until she could sneak out at the designated time? A fish out of water that has managed to land in a scalding hot skillet.
How is she a thing that actually exists within the world of this sassy, Avril-penned, Luke-produced, nugget of superb teen pop? We may never know, but the world is a better place because this exists. I luh u, Mandy.