of singletons.
“I know you girls are leaving soon, but can you tell me if I look like a heifer in this dress?” I bat my lashes and give her a pouty face. “Pretty please.”
“I thought you wanted to talk about leaving Rod,” she says and keeps her voice low.
“Can we do this tomorrow? He said he’s going into the office for the day. I was planning on snooping through his things then,” I say in a quiet tone and peer out the door to ensure he’s still in the bathroom at the far side of the enormous room.
“Fine, but starting tomorrow we bust his ass,” she says and points a brightly colored fingernail at me. “You are leaving that man. We are not doing this again.”
She isn’t giving up this time.
“I promise. Now am I a heifer or not?”
“Listen, we both know I’ll never say any woman is a heifer unless we’re talking about that tramp Elaine. Let me see the dress and I’ll help fix whatever you’re going on about.”
Lifting the phone, I stand and hold it so she can see me in my floor-length mirror. “It’s tight as hell.”
“It’s sexy. You just need to take off that old-lady underwear. I see the lines. And put on some Spanx. No one is wearing a form-fitting, cream-colored sequin Gatsby dress without Spanx. Not even the skinniest of girls.” She says it as if I ought to have known that. It’s clearly common sense.
Turning in the pale dress, I grimace at the underwear lines. “Right.”
“I’ve gained four pounds too. I know how you feel right now.” Shawnee holds her phone so I can see her body. There is no four pounds. She’s delusional and as gorgeous as ever. Her flawless dark skin ignites the silvery-pink off-the-shoulder cocktail dress with plaits in the short skirt.
“You’re so beautiful,” I gush and drag off my underwear, sighing at the reflection as if it has somehow become worse. “I want to be disappointed that the dress doesn’t fit but it’s not surprising. This month has been brutal.”
“I know. London was horrific. So much pub food and beer and I couldn’t say no.” She closes her eyes and confesses, “And I had two-cream teas with scones the size of my face.”
“God, I’d eat that right now, in this closet, without an ounce of self-deprecating hatred. This is why I’m never going to be skinny.”
“Stop. December is insane.” She does the friend thing. “No one loses weight on the holidays.”
“Don’t I know it. We started with our office holiday party. Then Hanukkah with Simone,”
“Simone from work?”
“Yeah, while you were in London. And then Christmas Eve at my sister’s drinking all the eggnog and Christmas-morning eggs Benedict.” The list of disgraces is making me feel worse.
“Don’t forget the double meals. Boxing Day lunch at my parents’ place and then dinner at your parents’ house.” She points at me. “I was full for two days after that.”
“And then Rod’s parents’ house for a second turkey dinner two nights ago. Not to mention, I’ve lived off wine, baking, and stocking chocolates for the last three days. In fact, I can’t recall the last time I was hungry.” I almost say no wonder Rod is cheating but I can’t. It’s not a joking matter, nor one I can take lightly.
Noise behind her comes through the phone and fills my large closet. “The girls are here. You’re sexy. Rock that dress. I’ll see you tomorrow, eh?”
“Okay. Come for lunch. We’ll have salad.” I laugh and blow a kiss. She catches it and winks.
The call ends and I’m a bit disgusted and a lot disappointed. I make a resolution to lose twenty pounds as I remove the dress.
It takes effort but I manage to drag on some Spanx and pull the dress back on. It slides over my body perfectly now, but the Spanx means no eating or drinking, and peeing is only done when it’s an absolute necessity.
Slipping on my heels, I walk from the closet to find Rod grimacing at my feet as I click across the room to the bathroom. “You’re wearing heels?”
“Yes, this dress needs t-strap shoes.” My tone is sharp but I’m in no mood to argue over how it makes him appear small. The conversation is annoying and the insinuation that he’s average size whereas I’m a freak is always noted.
“This one has ballet flats.” He lifts his phone to reveal a black-and-white photo of a flapper girl wearing flat shoes.
“Well, I don’t have t-strap flats. I