fairest of them all

In the spirit of short stories/anecdotes (see previous post), here's a little previously-unshared something I wrote two years ago for my writing collection entitled "Aesthetic Pride" that I'm still pretty proud of.

Fairest of Them All

Her alarm had been set for precisely 7:15 A.M. the previous night. However, when it rang to awaken her the next morning, she didn't have the discipline to get herself up on time, and ended up rolling out of bed sloppily at 7:21 A.M.

She showered, then spent exactly 43 minutes on her hair when she had aimed for 30. Next, she put on her eye shadow, mascara, then eyeliner in that exact order, or else it all just looked like shit.

She left the house at 8:57 A.M. and arrived at work, late, at 9:33 A.M. Fortunately, she had arrived before her boss, as she was well accustomed to.

She heard the faint, but familiar horn of an all-too familiar car from outside the office at 9:47 A.M. She pulled the oval mirror from her desk drawer on her left in order to fix her hair and pull down her low blouse to reveal the new implants and highlights she had gotten for a man who would never notice her.

At 9:52 A.M., he walked in. Wearing a crooked, dirty tie like only he could, complete with dark circles hanging under his eyes and even a night-old five-o’clock shadow that made him look even sexier somehow.

She smiled, pushing out her chest to follow his path as he crossed the hall towards his office. “Mornin’...” he slurred, with a wink at her breasts.

At 9:55 A.M., she hurriedly got up from her desk, and followed him to his office. He grinned hungrily. She flipped the blinds closed on the office window and moved towards him at 9:56 A.M.

At 10:22 A.M., he got up as she quickly followed his lead. She swiftly stuffed her two centers of gravity back into the blouse, and straightened the skirt on her thighs.

The two glanced toward the wall, facing the giant mirror in his office. As she looked into the mirror to fix her lip gloss, her heart fell. She cursed this mirror for blatantly exhibiting her faults -- she absolutely despised this mirror for showcasing all of the reasons for her current unhappiness.

“You know, I’ve always loved this mirror,” he said, as he straightened his tie in their reflection.

Stood up.

It was the night. I'd cut the tags off of a new tank top and slipped on some freshly-washed dark jeans. After scorching my hair into submission at 350°F and applying a few ounces of mascara, I at least looked ready for 5 PM, the pre-arranged time I thought I’d see a shiny, new black-and-yellow Mustang pull up into my driveway.

We had met through a mutual friend a few weeks ago. He had that typical blond hair, Ken-doll look about him, Whitestrips-fresh smile and plastic muscles included. He got my sense of humor, and he acknowledged my desire for simple physical contact. He was just sweet like that.

My shoes click-clacked as I paced, trying to keep pace with my giddy anticipation. Click-click. Straighten that strand of hair again. Click-click. More eyeliner. Click-click. Another Tic-tac.

Soon, my clock glared 5:01 at me. Casually late, I reassured myself.

And then it was 5:05. 5:10. 5:20. 5:45. 6:30.

Maybe blue-eyed blonds were overrated?

I checked my cell phone frantically, desperately searching for a new text lost in my inbox or maybe a missed call I hadn't seen during my hour-and-a-half-long vigil staring at my phone.

I typed "Kyle Heady." "Call."

Ring... ring... ring... ring... "You have reached the voice mailbox of--"

Click.

I looked to my mirror, staring at my straight hair that shone under the dull light of my bedroom.

I turned on my laptop, typed "Facebook" in my internet browser, and clicked on Kyle's profile.

"Poker at my house tonight! 10 dollar throw down, hit me up!!"

Yeah. I'd been ditched.

Story of my life? Perhaps. But this wasn’t something I couldn’t handle. So I turned on Jay-Z’s “On to the Next One,” pulled out my Snuggie and sweatpants, and called it a night, just for me. And maybe Ben & Jerry.