And I wish the jeans were the worst of it.
The t-shirt isn’t so bad, but the jacket… It's a military style with double rows of tiny buttons, enormous shoulder pads, and enough bling on it to cause a migraine.
She’s at least acknowledged my wishes and not worn heels, instead opting for my trusty Doc Martens, although she’s switched out the black boot laces for bright purple ones. Seriously? Where did she even get those from?
As I stare into my face, which is wearing Dusty’s trademark smirk, my eyes look bigger somehow, my eyelashes full, like little feathered fans, and my lips look plump and shiny.
“You’re wearing makeup?”
“Just a tad.” She holds up her thumb and forefinger. “A mere smidge. A little mascara and lip gloss.”
I’m pretty sure it’s more than that, but then another thought occurs to me.
“Dusty, where are my glasses?”
“Relax, they’re safe, boo,” she says, tapping her pocket.
“Why aren’t you wearing them?” I frown. “You won’t be able to see anything without them on.”
“But it ruins the whole aesthetic.” She waves her hand over the outfit as if to prove her point.
“No, I think you’ll find it's the outfit doing that.” My frown degenerates into a full-on scowl. “You are not letting me go out dressed like that. Go and change.”
“You’re not my dad,” she pouts.
“You look… I look like one of Janet Jackson’s bloody backup dancers.” My eyes narrow. “Everyone will take one look at me dressed like that and think I’ve had a breakdown. Either that or I’m auditioning for the reunion tour of Rhythm Nation.”
“I think you’re overreacting, Tris, honey.” Dusty fluffs my hair which seems to be gelled or sprayed into an artfully swept mess.
“And what’s up with those jeans? You’re going to need a surgeon to get me out of those.” I narrow my eyes even more. “Are they cutting off circulation to my balls?”
“Relax, hun.” Dusty winks. “The boys are just fine.”
“Probably because they’ve crawled up into my body to hide,” I mutter sourly.
“Look, we’re wasting time.” Dusty waves her hand. “Do you want to get your body back or not?”
“Is that a trick question?” I reply. “And I’d preferably like to get it back as I left it, not looking like one of the cast members fromStrictly Ballroom. You look like you’re about to show me your paso doble.”
“Come on, Tris. Just this once. Pretty please?” She grips her hands together in a begging gesture.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “But you better pray we don’t see anyone. I don't know how the hell I’ll explain it.”
“Are you two done arguing or whatever you’re doing?” Chan waves a hand vaguely in our direction. “Because this is really difficult to follow with only one half of the conversation. Isn’t there anywhere you can go to learn to be a medium or whatever? Because honestly, my life would be so much simpler if I could hear what was going on.”
“Sorry, don’t think so, babe, but next time I’m checking in with the Higher-ups I’ll ask. That is, if I don’t get fired from my job as a spirit guide in training for illegally commandeering Tristan’s body.”
“Do you really think you’ll get in trouble for it?” Chan frowns.
Dusty shrugs.
I glance down when Mrs Abernathy sidles up beside me. She smiles widely at me and offers me her handbag.
“Very kind, but no thank you.” I force a smile. “I think I look ridiculous enough for one day,” I mutter under my breath as I take her hand.
“Shall we go then?” Chan asks.
“Beau?” Mrs Abernathy says firmly as she offers me her handbag again, and I shake my head.
