The illusion seems to work for a lot more people. She is constantly surrounded by suitors, admirers, and people fawning over her. I can see how she has come to believe her own hype.
I look pretty tonight. The top shimmers and covers just the right amount of skin, but there is so much more to it than that. The skirt, oh, the skirt fits me waaay better than it does my sister. I have to tell her to step up her jogging. In the meantime, this skirt is mine. She won’t miss it anyway.
The straps on these shoes are killing me, but they look so beautiful on. The fresh pedicure whatsherface gave me looks fabulous. That and the shoes, well, along with the nice skirt – I do look good tonight. I haven’t had to buy a single drink. Well, I never do, my friends will always make sure to take care of my drinks. Hell, I never go out with more than $10 in my purse - just enough to catch a taxi, and usually I just smile at the cab driver and he doesn’t charge me.
I can’t stand being around them sometimes. My sister seems to be having fun with them – they’re probably all talking about her boring boyfriend. Who needs a boyfriend anyway? It’s way more fun to play the field. I’ve had my fun, but I know none of the guys around here are for me. I wouldn’t want to get stuck here anyway.
When I’m in the club, I see the married man I was with just last weekend. It was fun, spending time in a fancy resort, driving up there on his boat. To his left, I see the wife he barely thought of on our weekend. I guess she’s pretty enough, but she’s old. But what is she wearing? Ugh…I have a top just like that!! Time to do some damage.
She climbed up the stairs and leaned over the railing, nice colorful drink in hand. She waited, ignoring her friends as she waited for the other woman to walk below her. When she did, her drink suddenly slipped. She’d practiced often enough: a slight flick of her wrist, other hand in hair, looking away at an angle, as though she was caught by surprise. Below, she could hear a gasp followed by a shriek. The hand holding the now-empty cup moved quickly to her side, and she kept walking to the DJ booth, casual and innocent, alibi at the ready.
That night, she danced harder than everyone around her, drank heavier than her friends, who paid for her drinks [of course], and at the end of the night was no worse for the wear. She took a ride from a friend, and went home to sleep for most of the day.
It’s been nearly five years, and today, she wears a fine, slinky dress. Her makeup is heavier than usual. All those years of heavy drinking seem to have taken its toll. The wrinkles around her eyes need to be hidden. Her bare skin is no longer dewy and supple; instead, faint spots and freckles have shown up with no intention of going away. Microdermabrasion would work, but she refuses to dip into her bank account to pay for it. She’ll ask her parents to give her the treatment as a present sometime.
They’ll give her anything anyway. Just look at her fancy sweet sixteenth birthday party: she got her heart’s desire. Little does she know that it took her parents nearly ten years to pay off the loan that paid for that production.
Today I get to watch my sister tie the knot. Of course, I have to be a stunning, dazzling vision. As the single sister, it’s my night to shine. Big Sis is already getting married; she doesn’t need to impress anyone. It’s up to me to look my best to impress brother-in-law’s rich colleagues. Who would have thought that mousy sis would get married to a fabulously wealthy man! Okay, she’s not mousy, but she certainly can’t hold a candle to me!
I just can’t believe that I’m not maid of honor at my own sister’s wedding! You would think that since I am her only sister, she wouldn’t think twice, but instead, she chose her childhood friend. Mom and Dad didn’t even say anything to her about it. I asked them to, but they said it was her choice. Well, I’ll show her when I look better than her at her own wedding. Not that it’s hard to do that anyway.
She is living alone in a small apartment that her parents are paying for. She still maintains her figure, but her face shows the passage of time. She has not aged well, she is still single. She has to cling to the friends who feed her illusion. The men who used to flock to her side now watch her in pity. She sits at the bar, mourning her youth. They buy her drinks to keep her from talking. Each drink sends her slowly into oblivion, until she has to stumble out on her own, no-one beside her. The lone cab driver who picks her up doesn’t respond to her pathetic attempts at flirtation. At her door, she turns as if to go away. “Ten dollars,” says the driver. Shamed, she pulls out the crumpled bill and stomps into her room, old and alone.
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