Foreword: A quick note, a UK women's size 12 is equivalent to a US women's size 10 according to Google ;) Here in the UK what we refer to as 'sweets' are what you call candy. A mobile phone/number is a cell phone/number in the US. A lift is what we call an elevator.
I loved writing this story, the main character and Sage really spoke to me very loudly. I hope you enjoy reading it :)
A massive thank you to my editor.
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I'm a woman of routine. My day to life is always the same, nights out planned in advance otherwise I feel stressed out if something happens at the last moment. I wake up at seven every morning, go for a run that lasts thirty minutes, arrive home to take a shower before having breakfast. I get to the office where I'm a secretary, and all round slave to management, at nine. I have the same thing for lunch, the timing of which is the only thing I can't predict, seeing as it depends on when I get the chance to eat it at my desk. Finishing time is always six in the evening.
My days are mapped out in my PDA, meetings and such. I dislike when something is suddenly arranged last minute. Maybe it's because my Dad had always been so disorganized. As a single father he was often late collecting me from school, would miss the performances I put on during high school as he'd forget or be busy working late yet again. Maybe it's because I am just fussy and like things to go my own way. All I know is that this is who I am, any deviation from the things I have planned in my head or PDA can cause mood swings.
I've no idea why I actually agreed to go to the damned Valentine's Heroes and Villains Ball that was hosted by the dating agency my best friend Sage (yes that's her real name, her parents were unusual to say the least) worked for. Every Valentine's day for the past ten years Sage and I had spent together. The first time was due to us both being single, and deciding that we really didn't want to spend the night in yet another pub, getting groped by men that reeked of desperation. That night we had such fun that we made a promise to always spend the night together each year, and do it all over again. It suited me just fine.
We'd get a bottle of whisky, hire a couple of horror films, eat tons of popcorn and ice cream, while complaining about men and what a myth romance was. This year I'd been all set for the same thing, had even spent time figuring out what my choice of film would be, when I got the email from her begging me to let her off and buy myself a fancy dress instead.
Sage couldn't possibly get out of the Ball. She said she'd thought she'd managed it, but when the regular Events Manager had broken her arm it was down to Sage to step in to help organise everything. That alone made me laugh at the irony, Sage loses her own door keys at least once a month. An organiser she is certainly not.
Instead of staying home alone she managed to work around me with her pleas for my company during the night. She promised she'd owe me one, and that after she'd welcomed everyone she would stay with me for the rest of the night. Then she mentioned that maybe there'd be some eye candy, and it almost put me off altogether as I am not looking for a man at all, whoever I date seems to fall drastically short of my expectations. I'd sworn that 2009 was going to be date-free.
Eventually I agreed after several phone calls of her begging me to go. I guess the only reason I said yes was that I couldn't bear the thought of not spending the evening with her. We'd been close since we were five years old and she moved in next door to me, since she'd taken this new job we'd rarely seen each other except for our fortnightly girlie night out.
Seriously though, a
Heroes and Villains Ball?
On Valentine's Day? I had to question the sanity of the original Events Manager. Sage was forever telling me about the gorgeous men she was the matchmaker for, how she rarely saw an older guy at all, but honestly I still couldn't help but think that a dating agency was for the old and desperate. They had a website, but it was pretty basic despite offering email communication. An old fashioned type of place for sure, so how she expected me to believe that the average age of men there was thirty-five I don't know.
Besides if the men were really that fantastic, surely she'd have found one for herself instead of lusting after her boss, Grey. At thirty-one neither of us were getting any younger but Sage wanted the whole family thing, she wanted four kids and a husband she could love forever.
So there I was, a week before Valentine's Day, googling for a costume. I had absolutely no idea, I knew who Superman and Batman were, but naming female superheroes or villains was simply beyond me. All I knew was that there was no way I was doing anything permanent to my hair, or wearing a horrid itchy wig, and that I didn't want to be stood there in a costume that was practically lingerie.
In no time at all I quickly grew frustrated, there wasn't all that much of an option for women on the website I found that promised quick delivery. Realising that my options were limited I quickly chose what I thought was the least revealing and placed my order.
Despite all the effort I put in at the gym, and jogging each morning I remain a solid size 12, probably due to my everlasting love affair with sweets. While I'm not ashamed of my body nor do I tend to wear skin tight clothing, which meant on the 14th February when I unwrapped my parcel to find just how
fitted
the outfit was, I was not impressed.
The black fake leather bodysuit clung to each part of my body, while a black belt went around the middle. There was no way I was cancelling when I'd only just gotten used to the idea of going, and looking at myself in the mirror I didn't feel too bad, the belt helped hide the slight belly I had and it was forgiving black after all. Thank God February in the UK is cold, I could just imagine how sweaty I'd get in this costume if Valentine's day fell in July.
I found myself dialling Sage's mobile number while staring down at my make-up in confusion.
"Hi, make it quick," Sage gasped down the phone at me. "I'm up a ladder."
"I don't care, you're dragging me along with you," I growled at her in response. "So you can at least tell me what the hell kind of make-up Catwoman would wear."
"Oh that's easy, smoky eyes with black eye-liner and bright red lipstick."
"Bright red lipstick? I don't bloody own any red lipstick."
"Calm down, I've got some here with my own costume, just leave that until you get here."
"Hmm. Fine. What you wearing?"
"No way Lydia," she giggled at me, knowing how much I hated surprises. "It's a surprise for when you get here."
"Suit yourself. I'll be there in an hour then."
We said goodbye, and I finished off drying my shoulder length black hair before applying my make-up. I stuck to Sage's suggestion of smoky colours, using dark grey and black on my lids, finishing with the black eye-liner. Glancing into the mirror I felt my nerves go into overdrive, I hated new places, and I definitely wasn't looking forward to waiting on my own for an hour while Sage saw guests in. Securing the mask, complete with kitty ears, over the top part of my face, and a quick slick of clear gloss on my lips for the time being, I was ready to leave.
As soon as my taxi pulled up outside the hotel where the Ball was being held I spotted Sage. Unmissable in a skimpy She-Ra outfit! I was holding in a huge grin as I approached her, she rarely wore anything glamorous so to see her so dressed up, and showing her long legs off, made me grin like I hadn't in years.
"Thought you might find it amusing," she sighed, pouting her full lips that were painted red. "I lost a bet with Grey, he got to pick a costume for me."
"How many times do I have to tell you not to make bets? I've not known you to win one yet!" I laughed while she rolled her eyes at me. My friends, let me introduce you to Sage, Head of the Eye-Rolling Perfection Association.
