Put this pair of Jimmy Choos in your pipe and smoke it
"Are you sure you should go?"
"Yeah no it'll be good - I don't want anyone to think I'm afraid to be in the same room as him."
"Ok, but don't wear that - you look like a hooker from the eighties."
"Maybe you're a hooker from the eighties." she retorts.
"Maybe you're a bit uptight about seeing your ex-boyfriend with another girl."
My sister storms off to her room and re-emerges in a new top.
I look at her critically. At the cutting edge of fashion she is often in mortal danger and tonight its essential that she looks drop-dead gorgeous.
"Yeah - that's better but you need tights, not stockings."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you need tights, not stockings - go put some on."
She runs off again and soon reappears in tights, a new top and different earrings.
"Yep - that works. You will get cold though."
I can tell that she doesn't care. Tonight is not about comfort. Its not even about seeing her friend perform in a play. Its not even about having a good time with friends. Its about him.
She asks me for concealer. I tell her she is jealous of his new girlfirend.
She makes a vain attempt to justify her attendance to me but I know that all she wants is to know that her ex misses her. I know because I've done it myself. The whole, "Oh, I'm so over it - we both just want to be friends." is a delusional fantasy belonging to a forgotten, mythical race of completely self-assured human beings. That first encounter has a singular, merciless objective. It only takes a moment to achieve. That instant where you catch him off-guard. Just a miniscule dilation of the pupils, an almost undectectable drop of the jaw, a stiffening of the shoulders - its all a girl needs to salve her wounded pride. That prize of prizes for the broken-hearted - the look of regret.
The danger is of course, that there will be none to be found. That he will have moved on as effortlessly as Olivier Martinez at a singles bar. But, more often than not, because men being the spontaneously responsive creatures that they are, when they see you, standing there as if nothing has changed they will want you back again. Even if it lasts only for a moment it helps us girls to feel somewhat villified. That our sexual power or personal allure has not been diminished by their refusal to keep company with us. All the while we restrain our feelings of longing behind a carefree smile and relaxed stride.
Here's to looking good.
"Yeah no it'll be good - I don't want anyone to think I'm afraid to be in the same room as him."
"Ok, but don't wear that - you look like a hooker from the eighties."
"Maybe you're a hooker from the eighties." she retorts.
"Maybe you're a bit uptight about seeing your ex-boyfriend with another girl."
My sister storms off to her room and re-emerges in a new top.
I look at her critically. At the cutting edge of fashion she is often in mortal danger and tonight its essential that she looks drop-dead gorgeous.
"Yeah - that's better but you need tights, not stockings."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you need tights, not stockings - go put some on."
She runs off again and soon reappears in tights, a new top and different earrings.
"Yep - that works. You will get cold though."
I can tell that she doesn't care. Tonight is not about comfort. Its not even about seeing her friend perform in a play. Its not even about having a good time with friends. Its about him.
She asks me for concealer. I tell her she is jealous of his new girlfirend.
She makes a vain attempt to justify her attendance to me but I know that all she wants is to know that her ex misses her. I know because I've done it myself. The whole, "Oh, I'm so over it - we both just want to be friends." is a delusional fantasy belonging to a forgotten, mythical race of completely self-assured human beings. That first encounter has a singular, merciless objective. It only takes a moment to achieve. That instant where you catch him off-guard. Just a miniscule dilation of the pupils, an almost undectectable drop of the jaw, a stiffening of the shoulders - its all a girl needs to salve her wounded pride. That prize of prizes for the broken-hearted - the look of regret.
The danger is of course, that there will be none to be found. That he will have moved on as effortlessly as Olivier Martinez at a singles bar. But, more often than not, because men being the spontaneously responsive creatures that they are, when they see you, standing there as if nothing has changed they will want you back again. Even if it lasts only for a moment it helps us girls to feel somewhat villified. That our sexual power or personal allure has not been diminished by their refusal to keep company with us. All the while we restrain our feelings of longing behind a carefree smile and relaxed stride.
Here's to looking good.
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