Girls: Episode 1
- Date Night
Chloe sighed happily as she sank deeper into the steamy tub. Wiggling her toes gleefully she lifted first one leg, then the other, and lathered them up with her new bar of Love Potion # 9 Clementine, Lemon & Lavender Soap. It smelled divine. Divine Clementine. After a few more minutes of playful splashing she was ready to face the evening.
She stepped out of the bath and padded damply down the hall and out into the loft. It was time to get ready for another date.
Choosing her favorite shirt was easy, of course. The rosy pink Dirty Girl T-Shirt, paired this time with a flirty short skirt. It fit in all the right places, and the twirl-y little skirt was easy to slip on. And off.
A pair of slinky straps, a flush of blush and she was ready to go. Almost.
Running late was a trademark of hers, and aware of how serious trademark violations could be, she took a moment to kiss her Elvis Autographed Photo magnet good-bye. One dare not tamper with the rituals of life. Sometimes, she could almost swear that the sultry pout on the magnet softened after one of her kisses, and that the eyes gleamed ever so slightly. But then didn't it with most men?
Oh! She'd nearly forgotten her WordStretch bracelet. Tonight's trip to the gallery with her Gentleman Friend warranted the "Art Can Be a Happy Thing" rubber band. Snap.
The Crackle and Pop would come later. Or would it?
A small smile playing about her lips, Chloe slipped both the Slut- Tart, Tasty Floozy Flavor and the Virgin-Not-'till-We-Marry-Berry Flavor Lip Glosses into her beaded bag as she headed out the door.
Time would tell.
(c) Mary Masi <Cyprian2@aol.com>
The label reads:
Female, English-speaking, upper middle-class, liberal, black, conservative-democrat, African-American, mulatto, pro-choice, Buddhist, divorced, thirty-something, single mother with a serious attitude problem, and a big mouth...
The package contains:
One human being
Christine A. Crow: Greeting Card Artist/Weaver, Cheyenne, Wyoming
"You need more contrast," the Grandmother pointed out. "Otherwise it all runs together, too confusing." Christine listened with both ears while appearing to be absorbed elsewhere. It was something she'd learned as a child, to look pleasant but not impressed. The irony was the fact her grandmother had taught her the trick. "
I'll add pink to liven it up," she said softly. "Ugh," her grandmother made a sour face. She had always favored yellow for brightness. It was the color of the sun and winter flowers. It made her feel better. She opened her mouth to object, but her granddaughter jumped right in.
"Fine," she bit off the word, "I'll try yellow and see what it looks like," as though she hadn't known this is where they were headed all along.
The old woman allowed herself a small, congratulatory smile. Her hopes hung on her granddaughter, and she was glad to see they weren't misplaced.
"I coulda been a waitress all this time," she lamented. "Then I'd be keeping company with famous people who finally made it. I coulda been doing something social," she stressed the word social, "while I waited around for my big break." She was speaking to her small terrier, a recycled mutt named Monsieur Le Carre, after the author. "Instead, I've been shampooing dogs all day."
The view from her walkup was depressing, her future bleak, and all that held her from packing up and going home to Des Moines was a drop-dead gorgeous face and unlimited comedic talent.
"Say, hey," she announced, taking aim at a cockroach, "This will all be material for my one woman show one day! I'll call it 'How to Get a Fur Coat Really Clean.'"
by Debra Boxer <firstname.lastname@example.org>
The other day I bought a new dress and attached to it was a tag. Here it is, I thought. Here's what should be attached to all baby girls' umbilical cords when they make their first appearance to the world, before it is assumed they aren't good enough. It read: The irregularities and variations in the color and texture of this fabric are characteristic of the fabric adding to its natural beauty, which is in no way to be considered as defective.
I've always thought that women should be seen as oysters who wear their pearls on the inside, and so need to be opened up for their beauty to be discovered.
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