Michelle’s obnoxious laughter bounced off of the pale peach wallpaper and filled the room. Some of the other women rolled their eyes. Diana proceeded to pick lint off of her gray pencil skirt. Charlotte examined her manicure with newfound fascination. Loraine watched the two of them curiously, dodging Michelle’s flying spittle.
Sylvia noted a gray hair hanging offensively in front of her face and tugged on it. Pulling it out of her conservative bob, she looked both ways and discreetly dropped it into a nearby potted plant. It appeared as though Diana had told Michelle another joke as she howled once more like a rabid hyena. The other two women resumed their previous activities with augmented fervour. Sylvia cringed and excused herself to the bathroom.
Why should she put up with this behaviour? Every Sunday was spent at Michelle’s renowned penthouse, laughing away economic troubles in fashionable frills and poufy ensembles. Sylvia made a turn and strode down the hall. As she came to a standstill in front of the bathroom entrance, she also came to the conclusion that Michelle lacked education.
Michelle was also six years younger than her.
Sylvia locked herself in the bathroom. All she could think about were the wrinkles she frowned upon while gazing into the mirror this morning, and that gray hair back in the living room. She looked into the ornate bathroom mirror and scowled in disapproval. She had a distinct roundness about her waist. How had she not noticed this before? Sylvia Fletcher was plump and round. As she regarded the excess body mass in the mirror, her lower lip quivered.
No. The image reflected in the mirror was the person she no longer wanted to be.
Sylvia took one last moment to straighten her blouse and exited the bathroom. She marched down the hall with vigour, imagining her dramatic exit as she made her way to the sitting room.