“Fashion emergency!” my best friend shrieked from the other end of the line.
I sat up, blinking away sleep. It should be a crime to wake anyone up so early, preferably punishable by death. I only grunted, and was answered by crashing and clanging. I would know that sound from anywhere. “What are you doing in your closet so early?” I finally managed.
She sniffled. Was she seriously crying? “I have nothing to wear.”
I sighed. The perks of not being a fashionista: I didn’t have to worry about my wardrobe. I could wear the same shirt every other day and no one would notice. “You have an entire closet of it. Just pick something.”
“Easy for you to say, since you don’t mind dressing like a bedraggled factory worker.”
“I’d rather be bedraggled than bedazzled, thank you,” I snapped in retort, but then she’d started wailing again, and I decided to just let it go. “What’s all the fuss anyway?”
“Justin’s picking me up at six, and I have nothing to wear.”
“PM, duh. What are you, stupid? Who goes out on a date in the morning?”
It was my turn to shriek, and I probably sounded like a banshee. I could care less. “You woke me up at this hour for something you’re not actually doing until tonight?”
I hung up, buried my face into my pillow, and shrieked again.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.