Little did I know that models needed months of serious practice to be one. It was my boy friends birthday party, I needed to be in my best; I mean the best of bests. My mister charming was undoubtedly the apple of every bitch on campus eyes - rich, handsome, intelligent and so affectionate; just think of more. It took me two days of no class to run round and buy what to me is the hottest mode – the shortest pant I ever wore, the skimpiest top in the shops and then a six inches, most pointed heel I ever walked on.
‘Um yeah! Rock it baby, you are in control with those looks.’ I thought, scrutinizing myself through the mirror.
We took the stage for the opening dance – I rolled, twisted and swayed to impress, but, crack, crack and bang. Ouch! I twisted my leg rather too hard; my high heel broke into two halves. Oops, but no bother. My concern then was on how to fix it and keep impressing Sim. I dashed to the kitchen, took a kitchen knife and sawed the second shoe into two. Mid way, I got so impatient and tried to break it off but, it was hard.
‘Oh! Get the hail out before these sex hungry bitches will snatch Sim from me.’ I soliloquized pulling harder, the last pull through me back on someone.
‘No one will take you from me love, you are radiating, I tale you.’
No-go! He heard me. Hail no! Can the earth open and swallow me, please. I never wanted him to know my true feeling for him.