Serenity Falls(24)
“Here, try this one on.” Wes hands me a mauve colored robe that’s smothered in pastel flowers. His lips are curled under and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. My obvious discomfort by hideous robes is his entertainment.
My lips curl, and my nose scrunches in disgust. “You’re joking right. That has to be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” I attempt to hang it back on the rack when Wes snatches it away from me.
“Come on, I bet it’ll look great on you.” He smirks at me in a teasing manner. Wes removes it from the hanger and walks up behind me. He taps me on the shoulder before murmuring close to my ear. “Just play along.”
With a shrug of my shoulders, I decide that if he wants a show, then that’s what he will get. I spin around to face him before I yank the hideous robe out of his hand. I reach out and seize a robe in every style before I grab his hand and link his fingers with mine. Boisterous laughter escapes me at his stunned expression as I pull him toward the dressing rooms. After we search for what seems like endless minutes, I eventually find one. A blue, cloth chair sits in front of a set of three full-length mirrors, all angled to give a person the best view from each side behind them. I guide him to the chair and push him into it. “Now, you just sit there and enjoy the show. I’ll be right back. Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them,” I say, swaying my hips back and forth, as I saunter into a dressing room and close the door behind me.
Since he chose this disgusting, pinkish colored robe first, I decide that it’s the one he wants to see me in the most. I slip the robe on over my clothes, secure the belt around my waist, and make my way out of the tiny cubicle. His eyes are still closed when I step in front of the three mirrors. I catch a glimpse of myself and can’t help but think how I look like one of the women from Golden Girls. I pull the collar of the robe tightly under my chin, and bat my eyelashes when I purr, “You can open your eyes, Stud.”
The clamorous laugh erupts from deep within him.
I feign as if he’s just hurt my feelings. “What don’t you like it?”
“Okay, you were right. It’s pretty ugly.”
“Oh, you just wait. If you think this one is bad, I have another one for ya. It’s nothing compared to this one, but still pretty bad.” I bounce back to the dressing room to replace the atrocious robe with another.
This one is dark green and striped in white and red, making me look like a piece of Christmas wrapping paper. “Are you ready?” I ask, before coming out.
“I don’t know. Is this one worse than the last one?” he asks.
“Not as bad, but it’s still awful.”
“Bring it on. I can handle it,” he replies.
This time, I leave the robe open; the green fabric flies away from my sides as I walk in front of where he’s sitting. Doing my best version of a pirouette, I ask, “So, what do you think?”
“I thought Christmas was months ago?” He rubs his chin with his forefinger and looks like he’s deep in thought.
“I know. Right?” I reply, sarcastically, turning to look at myself in the mirror. “If you put a big ass, red bow on me, I could be a present.”
“Yes, you could. My very own Christmas present that I would love to unwrap.” A mischievous smile plays on his lips, and I know that he isn’t joking.
I choose to ignore his little comment. “All right, I have one more.” I hurry back and strip myself of the Christmas themed robe.
“Did you save the best for last?”
“Of course. I am a woman.” My tone makes it sound so obvious. I stand in the dressing room, staring at the next abomination to fashion. It’s a purple number covered with tubes of lipstick, compact mirrors, hairbrushes, vanities, and bottles of perfume. I have to give it credit for something that the last two didn’t have. At least the material is soft and fluffy. Although I’d like to say that this one is the ugliest, I think that each robe I’ve tried on actually ties for the most grotesque. Digging through my purse, I locate the brush that I’ll need for the number I’m about to perform. This time, I tie the belt around my waist again. I feel like someone who just stepped out of the eighties.
When I shove the door open, I walk out in front of Wes. The hand holding the brush stays tucked behind my back. My hair falls loosely around my shoulders when I rip the hair tie from it with the other hand. Softly, I begin to hum the beat to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cindy Lauper. It doesn’t take long before I begin to belt out the lyrics. My brush as my microphone, held in front of my mouth, my eyes tightly screwed shut, I belt out the lyrics with all my heart.