In the changing room

December 12, 2010 § Leave a comment

The label says the colour’s mink but she’d say it was more like pink, well, pinky-beige, like expensive knickers and celebrities’ dresses. She picked this dress off the rail precisely because it looked like a celebrity dress. It’s ruched down the front, that pink-mink colour, and the back’s plain black. Short, strapless, clingy – all the girls will be asking where she got it, and as for the lads. She’s going to look like a million pounds.

The lighting in these changing rooms is terrible, mind – she stepped out of the house looking stunning, even if she says so herself, and now the lights are showing up every lump and bump; since she knocked the sunbeds on the head she’s grey with the December cold, and in pulling off those heeled boots her legs are somehow wider as well as shorter. Still – she tells herself that the right dress makes all the difference as she unclips it from the hanger and unzips it, right down the front.

It’s a struggle to get it zipped back up again, but once she’s finished wriggling and poking and smoothing herself down, she looks up, into the mirror, and what she sees isn’t a lumpen woman with tired winter skin, but a glimpse of herself, later, hair up and heels on, writhing on the dancefloor and giving all the boys a vision to remember.

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