Friday, June 17, 2011

Clowns and Other Fashionistas

            “Gloria, do you think my hair clashes with my shirt?” She eyed me carefully from across the table in the new coffee house we were checking out.

            “Well, maybe a little. Your shirt is pastel pink and your hair is Georgia-clay orange today. That’s not usually a good color pairing.”

            I sighed. “That’s what I thought. The hot-pink lipstick has to go, too.”

            Gloria nodded. “Probably. But you know it doesn’t really matter. It’s who you are on the inside that counts, not on the outside.”

            I rolled my eyes, teenager style. “Puh-lease. That’s what people always say when they don’t want to tell you that you’re dressed like a clown.”

            “You are not dressed like a clown,” Gloria laughed. “Although you are wearing clown shoes.”

            “Are you implying that I have big feet, Cinderella?” Gloria’s dainty feet definitely would have fit into those stupid glass slippers.

            “And your nose is a red ball,” she said as I sneezed for the 15th time.

            “I have a cold,” I whined.

            “Don’t worry about it, girl. Maybe there’s a job opening at Barnum & Bailey’s for someone with your particular talents.”

            “That’s really amusing, Gloria.” I stuck my tongue out at her.

            “Or you could consider that it really is what’s on the inside that matters. You’re a good, caring person and I value your friendship. Stop worrying about your hair clashing with your shirt.”

            I started to cry, adding red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks to the overall appearance. I blew my nose loudly. “I love you, Gloria.”

            “I love you, too. No, don't hug me. That cold looks nasty and it's making you all weepy and silly.”

            I nodded in agreement. “No sharing of the cold. Got it.”  

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