Brooklyn looks at herself in the mirror disappointed, “another obligatory company party,” her best friend, Jessa, slides on her silky shine pantyhose as she rolls her eyes.
Jessa, “you act like this every year until we get a martini in you.”
“I wish you could just go ahead.. tell Mrs, McClaren that I’m not feeling well, and its’ not untrue,” Brooklyn pulls at her misshapen blouse. It’s been in the closet since the last company party, that was last year, and the fine fabric has been smushed and pulled. Brooklyn stands to the side, as if that is how she will greet people at the party, surely they won’t notice. She huffs as she listens to her sweet friend, and her never-ending advice.
“You can ‘not’ play sick, not when you’re in the running for Martin’s old job, and besides you always say you don’t want to go, then we get there and you have a great time. I think it’s just social anxiety.”
Brooklyn looks at Jessa with her amber brown doe eyes, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I tried on all of my dresses, three of yours and this is all I could come up with is this old thing from last year.”
Jessa considers it, looking at Brooklyn’s reflection in the mirror, “I think it’s very posh, the problem isn’t with your dress, it’s what’s underneath it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your lingerie.. silly”
Brooklyn scrunches her brow in confusion, “my underwear?”
Jessa scoffs, “underwear, pfft– yeah, that’s a perfectly frumpy word that got you in this frumpy mindset.”
“No one is going to see my ‘lingerie,’ Jessa. I haven’t been on a date since the position opened up.”