…preparation
A girl gets ready for a night out. She raids her deep cupboards for everything. Doors lie half off their hinges, across the room shirts and pants and tops and ties lie in knots on the shag pile. Hangers lay strewn Wooden, metallic, plastic with the sizes torn off in a fit of rage.
The music blares on her kareoke/ipod machine that she loves for when those parties happen. She has a ‘date’ playlist, because in this modern world everything has a soundtrack. The soundtrack for this scene is a quicky mix of modern classics, a little of the Beta Band, some Goldfrapp, The Band of Bees and the Postal Service; a smattering of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, some Bloc Party, They Might be Giants and Madonna’s Immaculate collection tastefully finished off with some old school Daft Punk turned all the way up to eleven.
In order to test the vast array of heals which she abusively flings from the cupboard on the bed she even does a little dance. And finally settles on some 80s’ classics, a little Duran Duran as the sun goes down.
Nail Polish – 10 mins
Leg wax – 30 mins and a little powder, a pair of stockings with a beautiful seam all the way up to a pair of frilly pink numbers with something slightly rude on them.
Hair wash and curl, abuse of various cans of styling products – 60 mins
Getting abusive at the hair curlers - 5 mins
Brushing out and going for something simple (i.e. striaghteners) – 10 mins
Bikini Wax – professionally achieved with the aid of some emergency suck sweets and a friend who does last minute appointments.
Friend X with her magic wax sticks around for 30 mins and helps decide clothing options. Narrowing it down to three while drinking
Champagne that has been in the ice box since New Year - priceless.
Make up, eyes – 10 mins, foundation – 5 mins, covering up that scar she doesn’t remember getting – 2 mins, lippy – choice 1 – 2 mins, choice 2 – 3 mins, choice 3 – 2 mins, back to 1, 20 mins.
It is now 7pm. Thirty minutes to lift off and no closer decision has been made on clothing.
Three skirts beg for attention:
1) A skiny white number with a bit blue button, slightly nautical.
2) A long satin pink skirt that feels a bit too try hard.
3) A hippy flouncy flowery smock dress that makes her look cute but is more about fashion than sense.
She throws herself face down in amongst them, unable to make a decision and eventually goes for a Marimekko smock dress and up-do with earings that seem to be made out of the entire metalurgic content of Madagascar.
The perfume of choice is a light and fresh number, nothing overpowering, a little D&G on the wrists to accentuate and blend with his own choice of scent which is bound to be the ususal. She wonders what he will wear. The scent inspires her imagination. She turns the pictures of the smiling blue eyes of her other half away from her so that her past self is kissing the walls and surfaces of her appartment. That picture of the skiing trip in the Alps where everything was so perfect makes her feel bad but she turns it away and slips into her newly re-healed blue-suede shoes. They feel good to run her hands over and for a moment she stops an thinks again whether this is a good idea.
But the taxi has already arrived and shes out the door, her only worry that the falling rain doesn’t ruin her shoes.
I didn’t let myself believe this was me doing this until I got in the cab. I left my cell on the bed. I did it on purpose.
