By Liz Frost
She eyed her wardrobe with trepidation. She hoped her clothes had decided to sort themselves into
an orderly manner since she’d forced them all in yesterday. She wanted to look chic but in a
sophisticated casual way, a very difficult look to achieve she’d decided.
She looked at her watch. Half an hour until he arrived, so she’d better start trying things on. Her
clothes waited expectantly, the blue dress pushed itself out proudly from between the grey suit and her
old flannel tracksuit. She grabbed that first and got it half way over her head before she realised it
had got tangled in her towel turban and she had to blindly turn in circles stumbling over a discarded
roller. The wet towel turban tumbled to the floor defeated by the pushy blue dress.
Once on, she checked her reflection, taking in how much work she’d have to do on her scraggy mop of
hair. The dress made her look washed out she decided, and shrugged it off, this time down over her
legs, and threw it onto the bed. Maybe a dress was a little too much, she thought, hmmm. She bit at
the skin on her index finger and tried to avoid chipping her French polish.
Perhaps some trousers and a top? She pulled out her red trousers and hopped on one foot, pushing
her other leg in where it belonged, squeezing her hips into the bulging zip. Puffing she faced her
reflection again. She’d always thought she looked like a children’s television presenter in those
trousers, she frowned sliding them back past her ample buttocks and introduced them to the blue
dress on the bed.
No, black trousers would surely be much better. Stylish and yet classic, not too dressy and not too
housewifely, she decided with a nod. Time was ticking on now and he’d be here in less than fifteen
minutes. Again she eyed her hair and couldn’t decide whether it was more important to have glossy
hair or the ‘right’ outfit. She was wasting time now. She’d blow dry her hair and then decide what she
wanted to wear. Hang on, if she did that she’d only mess it up. She sneered at the blue dress and
remembered the turban incident, she couldn’t trust her hair to stay looking good with all the to-ing and
fro-ing her clothes were likely to do over her head.
Right. She moved back purposefully to the wardrobe and pulled out a sleeveless low-cut top to match
up with her black trousers. This had promise. She gave her reflection a look of determination through
her silly hair and pulled them on turning around to check out her rear. NO! There was a gaping hole
in the back of her black trousers! He’d be here in ten minutes, she hadn’t dried her hair, and now she’
d found a hole big enough to fit three of her fingers through… she tried that and the hole stretched a
bit more. Oh no, now she could virtually fit her hand in it. In fact she did and couldn’t get it out again!
She pulled frantically at it, turning this way and that, knocking things off her dressing table. Finally it
came free, hitting her in the eye. It had to be the hand with the chunky fashion ring on it didn’t it?
Never mind that now. Maybe she’d sew it, that’s what she’d do, she could sew the hole, find her
shoes…now where had she put them? And just have enough time to fashion her hair up and put on a
bit of make up. It was pushing it, but at least she’d look half decent, she decided rubbing her sore
eye. She hoped it wouldn’t bruise.
Hang on; what was that poking out from behind her old nightie? Ahaaaa. She eyed her little green
pleated mini skirt with glee. Now that might be an idea, and – she did a quick check – no holes, so
extra time for putting on make up and doing hair. She couldn’t wear a low cut top with it though, she’d
have to find a t-shirt. She ran to her full chest of drawers and ignoring the crowds of unruly knickers
and mismatched socks that yielded themselves at her and cast themselves kamikaze at the floor,
located her plain black t-shirt.
Safely ensconced inside her mini and t-shirt she stood once more in front of her mirror. Uh oh. She’d
forgotten the fact that this mini skirt made her look like a cheerleader. She treated herself to a quick
giggle and strutted up and down twirling her hairbrush. She was tempted to drag out a pair of white
knee-high socks but stopped herself in time and went back to the task in hand. Glancing at her watch
she realised she had five minutes left. She dashed back to the bed and grabbed desperately at her
blue dress pulling it back over her head and smoothing it over her hips. If she thought about her
shoes carefully and did her make up well, she could pass it off as casual chic, she thought. The red
trousers looked on jealously and sought comfort in the ridiculed green mini.
Now did she look too casual? She searched for her dangly earrings and jabbed them into the side of
her face first before locating her earlobes…shoes could wait she decided and scraped her hair up into
a chignon before poking herself in the eye several times with her mascara. Her eyes were now red
and streaming, but neatly macara’d and she was happy with her outfit. She looked at her watch. Just
in time, he’d be coming down the drive any minute.
Sure enough there he was. She didn’t want to look too keen, so she waited for him to ring the bell and
then pretended to walk from the other end of the hall to open the door.
“Hello” she smiled breezily, yet sexily she thought, leaning on the doorframe.
He took his hat off and caught it under his arm.
“A pint of red top and a pint of semi-skimmed Mrs Smith…oh and here’s your loaf of Hovis” He handed
her the items and she took them gratefully.
“Thanks!...See you tomorrow” she added to the back of his retreating head.
That went well, she thought.
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