Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: PRIDE (inflated opinion of oneís self) (02/19/15)
TITLE: Clinging On When Youth Is Gone.
By Danielle King
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Oh, just look at that, will you. What a tart. Bit draughty round the nether regions, lady. Pull your skirt down from around your neck. You‚Äôll catch your death.
‚ÄúFreddie, just come and take a peek.‚ÄĚ
Tsk! I‚Äôll swear she‚Äôs grown an extra crow‚Äôs foot since yesterday. It‚Äôs all that muck she slaps on her face; fertilizer, it‚Äôs nourishing ‚Äėem.
‚ÄúI‚Äôm trying to snooze, Cynthia.‚ÄĚ
I remember when she was a youngster. No need for uplifts and corsets then. Shapewear, they call it nowadays, but there‚Äôs always an aspiring escapee, sneaking over, spurning death by Lycra. Flab; Ugh! Ugly.
‚ÄúWhy don‚Äôt you close the curtain, Cynthia?‚ÄĚ
You will never catch me slumming it like that. No way. You need a modicum of decorum woman, for heaven‚Äôs sake. I‚Äôm booked in for eyebrows and nails today.
‚ÄúCynthia, STOP obsessing over THAT woman!‚ÄĚ
‚ÄúFreddie, you don‚Äôt see what I see.‚ÄĚ
‚ÄúNeither would you if you stopped gawping at her!‚ÄĚ
I give up! Men are a perfectly peculiar breed. Sits there, beer barrel gut resting on knees; odd socks, one stripy, one polka dot, and yuck‚Ä¶ nose hair. How unflattering is that!
In winter it sports a permanent dew drop, just hanging on in there, the ultimate cliff edge drama.
His persona suggests‚Ä¶ well, street dweller, I‚Äôm afraid, and there are times I‚Äôd rather not be seen with him.
We are in the prime of life, and personally, I refuse to look like a sack of sprouting King Edwards. Neither do I care for lady facial hair, age spots or a scrag end of mutton style neck. I was not brought up to be slovenly.
His sons are the same. People will think I‚Äôve raised scarecrows. They have no self-respect. Yes, they‚Äôre law-abiding citizens, hard workers, provide for their families, but no-one would guess by their semblance of slop.
I was secretly pleased when they chose to attend their wives‚Äô former church, and leave ours, though they never explained why.
Hmm‚Ä¶ not sure about the specs now. Rimless; cheap and tacky; unfashionable. Something dressier, maybe?
‚ÄúDon‚Äôt involve me Cynthia. Ask her what she thinks.‚ÄĚ
TSK! Typical. I‚Äôll hit the High Street. Feeling girly.
‚ÄúPopping out for a while, Freddie.‚ÄĚ
‚ÄúTake all the time you need, Cynthia‚Ä¶ please.‚ÄĚ
Lists, I need a list. I‚Äôm glad he‚Äôs staying home. Wouldn‚Äôt want to bump into anyone I know with him unshaven. Why he‚Äôs cultivating a beard is beyond me. But the moustache is far worse. Maybe it‚Äôs to soak up seasonal nose-drips. Eek! Unsavoury!
It‚Äôs sad because he‚Äôs a good man at heart. He‚Äôd share his last crust with anyone in need. I sometimes wonder if it‚Äôs a mini protest. His mother told me he could dig his heels in when it suited. But he‚Äôs not like that with me.
He never questions my judgement. Always listens to what I have to say... and I say a lot! Lately though, I‚Äôve noticed a change. He‚Äôs not himself‚Ä¶ wait, male menopause. Now why did I not see that sooner? My friend swears her husband is in the throes of hormonal cataclysm.
Poor Freddie, must be more patient with him. He‚Äôll be thrilled when he sees my brand new, sophisticated image.
Phew‚Ä¶ that was some shopping trip!
‚ÄúFreddie, I‚Äôm home. Booked Botox consultation Friday, personal trainer starting next week, and hey, can‚Äôt wait to show you my new gear.‚ÄĚ
I can barely carry it upstairs. I‚Äôll dump it on the bed and take a breather. Something‚Äôs wrong. What‚Äôs happened here?
‚ÄúBit of a revamp, Freddie?‚ÄĚ
I‚Äôll check the spare room. Oh, my full length mirror is gone. All the mirrors are gone!
He‚Äôs on the stairs.
‚ÄúCynthia, before you ask, you need to know something.‚ÄĚ
‚ÄúIt‚Äôs OK Freddie. I‚Äôm aware of your problem.‚ÄĚ
‚ÄúI miss you, Cynthia.‚ÄĚ
‚ÄúThe gentle, unpretentious girl I married; the perfect mother to our kids; the woman whose happiness was complete in her family... and God. Who are you?‚ÄĚ
This male menopausal thing has really screwed him up.
‚ÄúIt‚Äôs her, that superficial, empty headed lightweight. Her, whose flaws you scrutinise every morning. And now she‚Äôs changing yet again. Into someone I don‚Äôt recognise‚Ä¶ or even want.‚ÄĚ
‚ÄúShe has to go.‚ÄĚ
‚ÄúYou thought wrong! She is not welcome. Cynthia,
I do NOT like that woman!‚ÄĚ
Funny, but those were my exact words this morning.
‚ÄúFreddie‚Ä¶ let‚Äôs dump my reflection at landfill and return this trash to the shops.‚ÄĚ
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