Mango Bet.

I walk through the double doors, the mango dress clinging to my wiry, scrawny body. C'mon, you can do this; it's just a bet, who cares if anyone judges you? You don't know them, they can't hurt you, suck it up!

I flick the artificial brown hair behind my sloping shoulders and tuck my real mousy brown waves behind my freckly ears - yeah, you heard right, freckly ears. Don't even go there, I went through the whole of school being teased about my freakin' mango coloured freckly ears!

People gasp around me; it takes all I have to suppress the smile and to concentrate on my balance in my matching mango stilettos. My large hands with mango nail varnish spread out at my sides as I stumble slightly. I may sound as if I'm over doing the whole mango look, but that's what we betted.

And I lost.

So now, I am stumbling through a crowded bar to my 'mates' in mango stilettos, a skimpy mango dress that only my auntie in her midlife crises would wear. I have mango eye shadow, mango blusher, mango lipstick, even God Damn mango fake-tan. My legs have been waxed; my hair has a mango slide in it. This may... possibly would have looked good on a normal girl, there's just one problem with it on me...

I'm a guy.

Next colour... Burgandy.

The End

84 comments about this exercise Feed