FRIDAY's SNIPPET - Knicker Crumples

Friday, 25 October 2013

Just click here and download if you want to see how Poppy gets on at the party:)

Since staying with Paige my eyes have opened up and the torture of break-up hasn’t really surfaced.
I realise as I pull on my tiger dress and slip on my high-heel ankle boots that Piers would have hated it. He disapproved of sexy garments, he said it evoked base male attention instead of intellectual contemplation and I shouldn’t rely on such crude tactics.
My God, did I really listen to that nonsense?
That man could take the fun out of blowing bubbles!
My dress is sexy, not trashy. It accentuates my figure but refrains from overexposing it. I think that’s the balance for a modern-day woman.
I’ve blow-dried my hair, all big and glossy like Beyoncé, and I’m just putting the final touches to my make-up when Paige bangs on the bathroom door.
‘Pops, let me in, I’m gonna burst.’
‘It’s open!’
She rushes past, dropping her knickers as she bottom-dives the loo seat.
After the initial relief (which all woman understand when the bladder is full but you put off going because you’re halfway through something and must finish the task at hand rather than mere physical necessities of natures callings), she looks up and spies me in the mirror, her head cocking to one side.
‘Wow, missus, you really are back to yourself. Nice to meet you after all this time!’
She holds out a hand for shaking.
‘Maybe when you’ve washed your hands.’
Paige giggles., ‘I haven’t even wiped yet.’
‘You are possibly the blokiest girl I know.’
‘Lah-de-dah now, are we? I forgot I was in the presence of such a lay-dddy!’ she taunts, doing a good impression of Eliza Doolittle from My Fair Lady.
‘Well one of us should be.’
‘This party tonight is going to be your homecoming into the world of fun again. I promise you won’t even hear a political statement.’
Most women’s heart-to-hearts can happen anywhere. But bathrooms and kitchens hold some unexplained undercurrent that naturally reveal our deepest worries, darkest secrets, and confessions out of us all. It’s the preferred venue for a masterclass in communicating honesty. So odd, really!
‘You know you have to get back on the horse?’
I have no idea what she’s on about.
‘The horse!’
‘What horse?’
‘Oh, all right, if you want to be obtuse about it: the riding, the ba-ba-boom.’
I’m still unsure what she’s banging on about. She mimes a little movement on the toilet which cracks me up so much that my lipliner doesn’t line anything but scrawls randomly around my mouth.
Paige and I laugh out loud as we examine the lie of the land in here, her sitting on the toilet with knickers bunched up round her ankles and me with a badly drawn cartoon pout.
‘I am not getting involved so soon.’
‘Who said fun was to do with being involved?’
‘Well I’m not looking …’
‘Who said anything about looking, it’s about taking part! No time for studying, girl!’
‘Paige, you are—’
‘Totally making sense, yes, I know. Shush … the genius is at work here.’
‘Well, the genius has anklet crumple pants, not becoming for such a heavy intellectual powerhouse of thought.’
‘We all have our own fashion, dear.’
‘Fashion or faux pas? The two don’t sit easily together on the catwalks.’
‘Well, cats do what they damn well please when they damn well like. I find the whole notion of the catwalk quite wrong somehow.’
‘OK, fine, you win. Last word: freak!’
‘Why, thank you, Dita von Jessica Rabbit!’

No comments

Post a Comment


Copyright © 2015 | Designed by: Broken Road Creative