Mexican Kimono. Billie Jones
specifics because you’ll think I’m some kind of nut job, but the deal breakers were:
They could not be thinner than me.
They must not be taller than me.
They must not have blonde hair, blue eyes or bigger boobs.
The other stuff on my list was just shallow.
My phone beeped again with a new message. God, that girl did not give up easily.
‘Sam…you took the week off because your boss caught you stealing a stapler and all those liquid paper pens! I’ll see you tonight. I can only drink absinthe because I’m on the green colour diet. K xx’
Green? Why would you pick green? All I could think of was vegetables; that wasn’t a very exciting diet.
I finally found a ‘maybe’ for the new best friend shortlist. Gemma. She was a flame-haired musician type, and while she was kind of cool, I secretly thought her hair colour held her back a little. I decided to call her anyway. At this point, I really had no choice.
She answered on the first ring (not a good sign). ‘Hey, Samantha! How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages!’ She was very exuberant for first thing in the morning.
‘I’m great, Gemma. I was just wondering if you’re free? I thought we could go get a pedicure at that place with the massaging chairs? I need to get my French tips put back on too.’
‘Sure, I’d love to! What time?’
I began to regret calling her. She was way too eager and available. I really tried not to hold it against her, but if someone called me that short notice, out of principle I would say I was very busy, because, you know, I’m important-like. It was too late now. I was in too deep.
‘Half an hour?’ I asked.
‘Great! Can’t wait to have a good ol’ gossip.’
‘Ok, Gems, see you there.’
I don’t know if you know about the acrylic nail rule, most girls do, especially ones prone to chubbiness due to inheriting the wrong genes (thanks, Dad!). Anyway, here it is: if you want to shed a kilo or two without dieting or exercising, all you need to do is get acrylic nails put on. They instantly make you look thinner. I’m not kidding. Don’t go too long, though; nails should be kept under a centimetre for best results. If they’re too long, people start looking for an Adam’s apple.
I finished my omelette and took my sombrero off. I hated to think what that damn hat had done to my hair. I didn’t dare get my mirror out to check in case Toff saw me and took offence. You really had to be on your game in that place.
Massage Chair Diet
There were still twenty minutes or so until I had to meet Gemma. I was walking innocently enough toward the nail place, glancing into the windows of shops whose clothes I could no longer afford when, out of nowhere, something barrelled into me, causing me to trip and fall. Stunned, I glanced up wondering what had happened. I was sure I was concussed and not seeing straight. A small boy approached me, yelling, ‘You’re gonna have to pay for that, lady!’
I looked around for the ‘lady’ he was referring to.
‘Did you hear me?’ he repeated, somewhat huffily.
Miffed, I asked, ‘Are you implying I’m old?’ Lady? I mean, come on, I was early to mid-twenties, for God’s sake.
‘You broke my car!’ He dissolved into tears as a mother-looking figure raced out of the toy shop to investigate.
I looked down at my knees that were now covered with blood, guts and gore. Very unattractive. Jeans for the next month then. My beautiful and expensive red ensemble was now ripped and shredded like a hula skort. I was not pleased.
‘Excuse me, little boy, but look at the damage you’ve done to me! I think I’m gonna sue your parents!’
The mother-looking woman scooped the young boy into her arms and hushed him before looking at me in scorn. ‘That car just cost me $200!’
‘Um, are you some kind of crazy person? Your son just hit me with a remote-controlled car as I was walking along the footpath. It came out of nowhere! Do you know this skort cost me $200? Not to mention the fact my knees are most likely busted up! I’ll probably need some kind of surgery to fix this,’ I said, pointing at my bloody wounds and legs that were all akimbo. ‘I think I have concussion. I hope I don’t die in my sleep. Then you’ll really be in trouble. Actually, now my neck is starting to ache. Maybe you should call an ambulance. Do you have insurance?’ I ferreted through my bag to find my phone. Mother-woman stood looking at me in disbelief.
I dialled Kylie’s mobile, only because she was good in an emergency. In the past, she’s fussed and faffed over me, making me feel quite special. She answered on the sixth ring (much better: not so needy looking).
‘What now?’ she hollered.
‘If you must know, I’ve just been hit by a car and I think I need an ambulance. The crazy woman whose child was in control of the car is trying to get me to pay for it, if you can believe that!’ I shot the pair standing over me a viperous look.
‘Oh my God! A child was driving a car? Did he steal it?’
‘What? No! His mother just bought it for him in a toy store.’ She was slow to catch on this one.
‘Wait, I’m confused. Are you saying you were hit by a toy car? And you think you need an ambulance?’
‘What’s with all the em-phasis? Yes, a big, motorised toy car. I’m quite badly hurt, I’ll have you know!’
She sighed right into the phone. ‘OK, drama queen, I’ve got a colour on a client that needs rinsing before their hair falls out. You know, like, a real drama. So I’ll see you tonight,’ she said and hung up. Again. Of course, I wasn’t going to let devil mother and child know that, so I kept up a one-way conversation. ‘Yes, Kylie, that would be great. Call the ambos and ring Uncle Siegfried for me. He’s in the Yellow Pages under Q. As in Q for Queen’s Counsel. Chief of lawyers. I’ll just wait right here since I can’t walk any more anyway.’
Sure enough, the evil duo was gone as fast as my dad’s wages at a two-up game. It was just the mangled car and me. Finally, a toy shop employee came out to assist me. He was a young boy looking about fourteen who stared down innocently at me. His head hiding the sun made it seem like he had a halo.
‘Are you OK, Miss?’ His cute little cherubic face looked quite concerned, so I held back my wrath about how long it had taken someone to come to my rescue.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said, glancing at his name badge. ‘Cooper, I could really use something to clean my leg up and a couple of ibuprofens. You look at the damage, please. I worry I might faint with the blood and everything.’
He looked down at my knees. ‘A couple of Band-Aids should do it.’
‘Band-Aids? Band-Aids? Are you some kind of masochist? Then the hospital will have to rip off the Band-Aids to sew it and possibly make the gash even deeper!’
‘Hospital? You’ve only got a couple of scratches on your knees.’
God! Teenagers were so rude these days, don’t you think? He was probably one of those Generation Z kids that didn’t worry about simple things like school, or working, or the future, and just spent all day surfing and I don’t mean waves. I worried, reallyworried, about our country’s future with kids like Cooper.
‘Cooper, do me a favour. Go back to work. Try and commit to it, OK?’
I got to my feet, definitely unsteadily, brushed as much of the street grime as I could from my clothing and hobbled into the nearest clothes shop. I was on a credit card diet, but this was classified