They choose my underwear—and it isn’t the comfy cotton kind I enjoy in this heat. No, they decided on one of the three Victoria’s Secret sets they talked me into buying. I stand here as they assess me in my nearly-naked status.
“What?” I bite.
They both just stare.
“Would you stop staring?”
Audrey sighs. “I’d kill for your body.”
Isla nods. “I want a booty like yours. Perfectly rounded.”
“Shut up, Miss Model-Perfect-Curves,” I tell Audrey. “And you, you’re the live version of Barbie. I always fade into the background with you two.”
“That’s probably why you chose us for your friends,” Isla replies.
“I didn’t—”
“I bet she totally did,” Audrey agrees.
Is this really happening? They chose me. I close my eyes, afraid to see what comes next.
They decide on the navy shorts and sailor top outfit that leaves more than just a hint of my belly bare. The neck is square but shows more cleavage than I’m comfortable with, but each time I lift it up, it shows more belly and Audrey pulls it back down.
“Show off the goods, Jillie.”
Isla agrees. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
“I’m not the flaunting type.”
Audrey gives me a look. “Tonight, you are.”
Lovely.
“Live a little,” Isla coaxes.
They dry my long, brown hair straight, so it falls to the middle of my back. Hot. It’s always so hot when I wear it down like this—especially when it’s hot outside like it is now. I’d get it chopped off if I didn’t look like a boy when I have short hair.
They pluck my eyebrows. I get them waxed! I think they do that just to torture me.
They choose the makeup, the amount, the colors. Thankfully, it’s not a hooker-worthy amount but, rather, just enough to accentuate my features—even if I’ve never worn blue eye shadow in my life. Isn’t that a 70’s thing?
Know how I thought plucking my eyebrows was torture? Wrong.
They choose sandals. They’re navy and white wedges with a higher heel and ribbons that tie around each ankle. Walking on the sand in these? They may as well schedule an appointment in the ER for later tonight because these sandals are death traps. I don’t even know where they came from.
“Whose are these?” I ask.
Audrey rolls her eyes. “Yours. They were buried under all your Chucks and flip-flops.”
“What’s wrong with my Chucks and flip-flops?”
“Nothing. They just don’t go with your outfit.”
“Audrey, I have navy and white Chucks, as well as flip-flops. Either of those would be fine for tonight.”
Isla lifts her brows. “Um… no, they wouldn’t.”
This is starting to remind me of shopping when I met them.
