Shopping for the party

What a day. A new car, a new dress and a new man is taking her to the party tonight. Suzanne is sparkling from head to toe. The windows of the car are down, her ponytail is blowing loose strands across her face and the radio is playing her favourite Clive Jones track. She bounces around in the leather seat and fashion ideas bounce around in her head.

“A short silver tunic over her new purple leggings or maybe a frilly but slinky white crepe top” she muses.

In the car park she drives slowly around the perimeter showing off her old fashioned Beetle. It’s beautiful bright red body curves down to big eye-like lights, two of them, and a fancy chrome bumper bar wraps around the corners. She’d just managed to scrape together enough money to buy the second-hand mag wheels and the shiny spokes peep out from under the tiny red body.

She turns up the volume and cruises. The black tarmac sweats and steams in the sun and the white lines beckon and then disappear.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaah, a space” and the Beetle leaps forward.

Suddenly there’s a roar of exhaust just like an angry lion and a deep rumble of heavy bass fills the air, overtakes the sun and has Suzanne’s tummy leap to her throat. She stalls.

The black ute carelessly swerves around the corner and grinds to a halt in Suzanne’s space. Black smoke pours out of the exhaust as the guy continues to accelerate and show his power.

Suzanne shakes her head in disbelief, the ponytail goes wild. She starts to growl.

The engine dies. The truck unloads itself and the guys disappear in the direction of the pub. The sun returns, the quiet returns except for Clive and she looks again at the monster truck.

She bursts out laughing.

The gleaming metal hub caps act like one of those weird mirrors in the fun fair arcade. One minute you are long and thin, the next short and fat. Her Beetle looks like a Noddy’s car, like a toy, like an underinflated red balloon. She jumps out and models down the tarmac catwalk. Her legs are like sticks with big sandled feet. Her tiny denim skirt wouldn’t fit a doll, her body disappears into her head and her pony tail comes down to her knees. At another angle she looks like Humpty Dumpty. Imagine him in a new silver tunic, long slung black leather belt, purple leggings and silver shoes.

She parades around the truck. Giggles keep escaping.

“If only Jane was here. We’d be falling over ourselves laughing, holding our belly’s in pain and tears would be pouring down our faces” she giggles to herself.

“Hi Jane, I’m at the mall. Wanna come shopping?”