Getting Ready

picture: Getting ready by Ganev Smallwood

Getting Ready

She was feeling exhausted. It had been a long week and many more were waiting for her but she had already promised. As usual, she had to keep it. She could never cancel. Now she had to get ready.

She jumped into shower; let her body hydrate and steam. She creamed and groomed. Looking at herself in the mirror she wondered: Was her belly flat tonight?

The battle began.
Black or colour? Black. That belly wasn’t flat.
Skirt or pants? Pants. Her ass was fine looking tonight.
Heels or flats? Heels. Why would she ever ask that!
Comfortable heels – do they exist? She believed so – or sexy heels? Comfy it is. It could be a long night.
Fitting top or loose top? Loose top. She wasn’t feeling fit enough.
Cleavage or no cleavage? Cleavage. She wanted the attention.
Short sleeve or long sleeve? Short sleeve. She never liked long ones but that meant she had to cover those arms and a black bolero was the saviour of the night. Who wouldn’t like long and thin-looking arms?

It was time to make up make-up.
First tool to use is the foundation. She smoothed her skin tone and covered her spots.
Next she had to decide: Was it a red-lipstick night? No. She was planning to drink tonight.
She lined her eyes, used a dark eye shadow and mascara, a touch of pink blush and a shiny lip gloss
and she was all made up.

Accessories complete the look. She was dressed simple; a necklace was a must.
No dangling earrings are allowed with necklace! Plain pearls would be just fine.
Changed the watch to a fancy one; wore an elegant bracelet on the right arm; picked a neutral coloured purse – small and easy to carry around
and she was almost done.

She checked the weather. It was rainy and windy. Typical.
Long coat or short coat? Short coat. She had to show that ass.
She chose a scarf, grabbed her umbrella and double checked her bag:
Phone – check.
Wallet – check.
Lipstick – check.
Oyster card – check.
Keys- keys? Keys? Aha. Check.

Then she rushed off. It never mattered whether she was late. She always rushed.
With the sound of her heels banging on concrete; with the smell of her perfume mixing into wind; with the look in her eyes expressing an amalgam of feelings; with the touch of her figure shadowing the streets,
she tasted sweet.

Beril 24/04/11