Salt and/or Pepa are being made to want to shoop as she puts a red dress back in the packed-to-overflowing closet. The dress always gets the kind of male attention she once enjoyed more than she admitted, and now dreads more than she can explain.
She turns the music up.
She grabs another dress and tosses it on the bed. Plainer. It doesn’t hug her curves like the other one. It might give them a hearty handshake.
She stands in the full length mirror, inspecting herself in a bra and underwear combination she just bought. It makes her a little sad that he’s never seen her in it.
It makes her a little mad that she thought of that.
Girls, what’s my weakness? Men!
She takes a seat in front of yet another mirror. She lifts her hair up into a bun and then lets it fall.
She turns on a light bright enough to take x-rays and leans into the mirror. Cover Girl hasn’t invented anything yet that can cover the impact crater left behind by that relationship.
She’s only going so she can shut her friends up. They’re so annoying. They’re even more annoying when they’re right. She needs to go out more. She knows it.
She puts her hair up.
Nights like this call for daytime make-up, she decides. And applies, mostly from Birchbox offerings.
She grabs a fork off of her plate and shovels in a mouthful of her famous ‘quinoa and whatever-was-in-the-fridge.’ Too old to drink on an empty stomach.
A mouthful of wine washes it down. A white wine that was on sale. The pride of Australia! Simple wine in a fancy glass. She thinks that has to be a metaphor… A second drink of wine washes the metaphor away.
She looks at her watch. She “Oh crap!”s.
She pulls the dress on. She looks in her closet and opts for two inch heels.
A cab honks outside.
She lists, and dismisses, excuses for not going.
2) Working late.
3) Period. (Girls, what’s my weakness? Mensies!)
4) Washing hair.
5) Explosive diarrhea.
She runs out the door.
The door opens and she runs back in. She grabs her phone and leaves again.
She takes her hair down, as she gets into the cab.