I will say the words until I’m blue in the face. I love Macy, but she can be overly persistent at times. When she finally gives the subject a rest, I go back to my dress, trailing my fingers along the waistline. Delicate. Detailed.
Beautiful.
“I love you so much,” I whisper to my dress.
It would sure be a waste for me not to appreciate thecraftsmanship—and the money my parents spent on it. Plus the shoes. Plus the necklace and other jewelry.
“Pink perfection,” I mutter.
Macy:Now what are you doing?
Me:I need to hydrate—gonna do a face mask.
Macy:The ones I gave you for your birthday?
Me:Indeed.
I grab a moisturizing mask from my stash—also known as the drawer full of masks, pimple patches, and eye patches—selecting an aloe-based pack that boasts ultrarich hydrating power.
Perfect. My skin is as dry as the Sahara.
I tear it open, unfolding the serum-heavy sheet one section at a time until it’s limply dangling from my fingers.
“Why is this so slimy?” Kind of gross.
Plopping down at my desk chair,I stare at myself in the mirror, applying it like a professional, plucking the edges so it’s perfectly in place. Tug it here and there. Grab my scissors and cut the nose folds larger so I can breathe.
Pat, pat.
It may be thin but it’s slick with goo—slick with the nutrients and vitamins about to permeate my skin once I get the darn thing on properly.
It sags.
“Oh no, you don’t…” I scold. Fussing, I rearrange it around my eyes. “My gawd, this feels disgusting.”
I pucker my lips through the gaping mouth hole. “You’re solid gold, baby. Solid gold.”
The flap over my nose flutters with every breath, uncovering and covering my nostrils, until finally, I snip the tip off.
“Gorgeous.” I kissy kissy the air and snap a selfie, which I immediately add to my private Snap story. “Twenty minutes from smoother, luminous skin.”
Twirling in my chair with my neck bent toward the ceiling, I spin and spin, bored already with having to wait to take this mask off. Lazily, I eyeball the blue box on my desk and contemplate whether to add teeth-whitening strips to my self-care regimen.
I’ve always been a multitasker.
“Why not?” Might as well.
I tear open the small silver-and-blue package and adhere the top and bottom strips.
My phone buzzes with a call this time, Macy’s name flashing across the screen. As always, her timing is nothing but impeccable…
I debate ignoring it but I answer anyway, knowing she couldn’t care less how I look, and prop the phone against my desk mirror.
Macy’s face appears, instantly twisting into horror. “What the hell am I looking at?”
I raise my eyebrows—or at least, I think I do; the mask is already tightening, making it difficult to speak. “Mhhhnnng.”
My bestie is having none of my nonsense. “Stop being so dramatic.”
