1991

1991 Part 40

"A skirt is easy access, which is always a bonus."

My eyebrows shoot upwards and my mouth drops open.

"Kirsty!", I yell and throw a pillow at her, "how dare you!" 

Kirsty looks up from the magazine she's reading, lying flat on her back on my bed. Her bare feet are on my wall, and she's got an ashtray balanced on her tummy while she chain smokes like a chimney. She's supposed to be offering me critical date-wear advice but so far she's been useless. 

"What?" 

"This is an outfit for a proper date not some kind of a... kind of...." I can't think of the word.

"Fuck-fest?"

"Kirsty! Please!"

I stomp back over to the wardrobe and pull out a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. 

"Oh real sexy Sam," Kirst rolls her eyes at my choice.

"I'm not looking for sexy, I'm looking for platonic," I pout.

"Are you going logging?" 

"No," I chuckle.

"You're planning on dressing like a lumberjack though."

"Fine!" I snap and throw the jeans and flannel back in, "Eddie wears flannel," I sulk.

"Eddie could wear a hazmat-suit and still look hot," Kirst says absentmindedly. 

"So could Chris," I snap and stick my tongue out at her. Two can make inappropriate comments.

Kirst sighs, moves the ashtray to the floor and rolls over to face me.

"What is the aesthetic you're after again?"

"I told you. Platonic, but not hideous. Something that will deter any unwanted advances."

Kirst looks at me quizzically.

"Unwanted advances? You want something to make yourself less attractive to Eddie?"

"Yes, as counter intuitive and ridiculous as that sounds, that's exactly what I'm going for. I don't want any distractions, just conversation."

I dig deep into my wardrobe again, rifling through years of bad fashion choices. I stumble across a collection of floaty ankle length dresses and skirts from my brief Fleetwood Mac phase when I truly believed I was Stevie Nicks, for about a month. 

"Oo, how about this?" I beam, pulling out a multi-colored, floaty beaded tie dye skirt which jingles slightly when it moves.

"Is it just another Manic Monday, Susanna?" Kirst says, grimacing.

"What? It's not that bad," I hold the skirt up against me.

"Will you be telling fortunes on the side?" Kirst laughs.

I throw the skirt back in and slam the wardrobe doors.

"I don't know!" I cry, throwing my hands up in the air in frustration. This is too difficult. I feel so much pressure already. Kirst crosses to me and hugs me tight. 

"It doesn't matter what you wear Sam, Eddie would want to jump your bones even if you were wearing a sack, you poor poor thing you." 

I pull back and grin at her. It's not the worst hardship in the world. 

Finally we agree on a black emperor line mini dress, that swishes when I walk, some black over the knee socks and my lace-up blundstones, giving the docs the night off. Kirst wrestles my hair up in unruly waves and I apply my trademark black eyeliner and lashing of mascara. Kirst stands back to appraise me.