Member-only story
Mutton Dressed As Lamb
For goodness sake, Maureen! What on earth does she think she’s wearing?! I watch as she waddles up to me in a mini skirt so short it could be a belt, a pair of sheer tights which weave in and out over rolls of excess flesh. Her cleavage nearly knocks out the man at the table next to her as she waves,
“Veronica, babes! How are we?” she says, all excitement and fake poshness. I smile weakly,
“Hi, Mo, I’m fine. You look… erm…”
“Isn’t it fab-U-lous?” she cuts me off, waving her hands in sweeping gestures that make everyone stare.
“Well, yes, it’s… but don’t you think…”
“Oh, I was pumped! Pumped! I tell you. The looks I’ve gotten. Can you say peng?! I swear, if I hadn’t been hurrying, I could have got at least seven phone numbers. Let’s just say MILF!” I look at my hands,
“But, Maureen, as women of a certain age, how do you… I mean…”
“Oh, of course, Veronica, chick! I’d love to take you shopping! I’m not one for keeping this fashion sense all to myself.” She says, much to my horror. I can hear people starting to mutter, and my face burns.
“Mo, can’t you see…” I gesture around. She just smiles.
