http://www.amazon.co.uk/When-chick-novel-about-friendship-ebook/dp/B00BWU16V4/ref=pd_sim_kinc_2
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?’
‘What?’
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!’
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