Wednesday, 5 March 2008

That Girl

Guest n°1


Sandra opened her email with an anticipation that very rarely graced her life. She hadn't been to a real party in a long time. Back in the day she was the 'It Girl', but recently with work, life, stress and a relationship gone bad, she had slipped into a mundane existence that facilitated her arrival to Saturday morning when she could sleep-in and eat leftover pizza for breakfast.

She spent most of her time at home. Her house was her pride and joy, but I must say, in as much of an objective and non judgmental way as possible, that although quite nice...Well, there was always something just not quite right. The very good idea and attempt gone bad. But you couldn't tell Sandra that. Oh no! Not only had she needed a reality check for quite some time, but she also lavished herself in denial on a daily basis.

Well you be the judge...

AD Italia Jan 2008
AD Italia Jan 2008

AD Italia Jan 2008


It seemed to have taken forever for the file to download and when the slide-show began she smiled as memories of the event were refreshed. After 3 or 4 photos she began to get impatient. Where was she? You see, she had made a real effort that night. She had found a skirt that she had worn a few years back that had been daunted by others as 'The Killer Skirt That Sandra Got In Rome'. She wore it along with a new top she had bought for the occasion. She had taken a chance because the skirt was a bit shorter than she remembered and a bit tighter. But she was looking to leave an impact. She was looking to be remembered and that skirt was her ticket. And then her thoughts were interrupted by an image that almost stopped her heart. Finally there was a picture of her. But not the one she expected. Instead of looking like a diva dressed in Prada, she looked like a beached whale wrapped in a black plastic. And if the 1st photo stopped her heart, then the next three can be summarized by watching any 5 minutes of a WWE Smackdown highlights clip. Her ass seemed to expand exponentially in each photo. Sandra's palms began to sweat. How could this be possible? She wasn't fat. Fine, most of her clothes were a bit too tight, or too small all together, but that was only because her washer was old. She had bought a new one, and admittedly the problem didn't go away, but that was only because there was an electrical problem with the currents and fuses and whatever else is involved in home wiring. In fact, she already had an appointment scheduled with the electrician for next Tuesday.

And then her mind began to race...Maybe there was a problem with the camera. Or the monitor. Like when the wide screen came out and everyone looked like short fat chipmunks. Of course! It was the format of the photos! She quickly started the slide-show from the beginning to examine how others looked. The first person seemed completely normal, but she was like 20 years old and completely anorexic, so she didn't count. Then others popped up with smiles and decent figures. And then she saw herself again and the vomit creeped up the back of her throat.

Oh My God, She thought. I'm FAT. Its not the dryer or the cut or the fabric or the electricity. Its me! I'm fat and I squeezed my fat ass into a skirt that I should have never worn and I pranced around all night like I was a supermodel not even knowing that the stares weren't out of admiration, but of ridicule.

The embarrassment overwhelmed her.

Oh my God. I'm That Girl.