You could have a Spanish omelette, Aussie omelette, Japanese (not recommended) or Greek.
She reached under the counter and produced a hat. ‘Here, Sweet Cheeks. Put this on so the staff know where to take your breakfast.’ She handed me the brightly coloured sombrero. Mortified, I trundled back to my table. I’d completely forgotten about the costumes in the ‘I’m late’ section. I should have been a serial killer. Cereal with vodka jelly shots sounded appealing since I didn’t have a thing to do all day. Everyone in Toff’s looked extremely busy and important-like, so I took out my iPhone, put on my ‘I’m terribly self-absorbed face’ and decided to text Kylie and tell her my news.
‘Hey, K, you’ll never guess what happened! Fired by Mr I-still-live-with-my-mother-even-though-I’m-like-a-hundred! Yes. Fired. He happened to dislike the skort I’m wearing and somehow sussed out my Twitter updates. Can you believe it? What are you doing? Meet at Toff’s?’
My omelette arrived in all its Spanish glory. I knew it was coming when the 90s dance music stopped and a flamenco tune came on. They definitely didn’t do things by halves. I ate with relish. After last night’s debacle, I was starved. Kylie had practically forced me to open two more bottles of red wine, so with the extra calories there all I could eat for dinner was a family-size packet of salt and vinegar chips. I shouldn’t beat myself up about it because tomorrow I’ll start the new diet Kylie suggested. According to her it was the next big thing, all the celebs were doing it. It was called the ‘Colour diet’. You picked a colour of food and only ate things in that shade. I was leaning towards red. Red strawberries, red daiquiris, red liquorice, red lollypops, red cordial, red wine. I had a penchant for pancakes, but Kylie said I could add red food colouring to the mix and it still counted as a diet meal, the red food colouring changed the metabolic structure of the pancakes or something. I couldn’t wait to see the kilos fall off. It would be tough-going, but I knew I could do it if I tried hard enough.
My phone beeped with a message from Kylie.
‘What? Oh my God! How are you going to live? You’re at Toff’s? Shouldn’t you be looking for a new job? And no, I can’t meet you. Like I told you last night, I am running my own business! I have appointments all day. I’ll come over tonight and help you look through the employment section if you like?’
Geez, what a killjoy. How boring could one person be? I needed to ramp up the search for a replacement BFF. The old one was becoming excessively responsible. She’d obviously been hanging around my crazy mother for too long. Running her own business! Wasn’t the reason people did that so they could take time off whenever they wanted? I began to lament the fact my so-called entourage had developed some serious character flaws. In the past, times like these were a cause for celebration. And now look, everyone was busy. Faux busy, if you ask me. I needed to move on, and fast. Time to go home and wrap myself in my kimono. It made me dream of another, more gentle world. Submissive, subservient, exactly what I needed in a friend.
‘Kylie, you don’t seem to have grasped the seriousness of the situation. I am in a crisis here and need some moral support. You’ve obviously neglected to remember when you were fired from the pet shop for murdering all those fish! You went to ground immediately and I was there to pull you up again. I took you to Underwater World to help you get over your fear of killing things. I took the week off for you! I’m asking for one lousy day!’
I scrolled through my contact list in my phone for a potential new bestie. It was a tough choice. I had certain expectations when it came to friends. I won’t go into the 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.
