Dumped!

Dumped (2)

PICTURE OF DEANA CARTER ------------------------------------->>>>> 

2

When my alarm rang early at 6.00am the next morning, I didn’t remember the previous day’s scenario until I noticed my wedding dress hanging off the curtain rail.

I sighed deeply and groaned inwardly, as all the feelings from last night came flooding back, as well as an addition – a hangover.

If there was one thing I wasn’t going to do, it was to let the whole situation take over my life. I couldn’t sit around pondering.

So, I did the most cathartic thing I could think of.

I pulled out my laptop and logged on to eBay. After I took a picture of the dress and put it on the page for sale, I hopped into the shower.

I have no idea how long I was in there for but when I got out it was 8.00 and work was supposed to start at 8.30. Hopefully, my boss would blame my tardiness on the events of the previous day – he had been invited, after all.

As I got out of the shower, I heard the ding.

The dress was sold. To Emily Jenkins from Tampa, Florida.

Hopefully the dress would bring her much better luck than it had brought me.

I poured myself a large cup of coffee and popped some Aspirins. I didn’t know that it could fix much, because the pain I was feeling was most definitely not physical – more emotional.

I groaned as I thought of the sympathetic glances I’d be getting throughout the day – nearly everyone had been invited; I hadn’t wanted anyone to feel left out, so I’d just asked Stacey, my secretary, to hand out the invites. Apparently, she’d just stuck it on her desk for anyone to take as they pleased.

My phone beeped, signaling a text message.

It was from Stacey:

HEY, DEANA. U DONT HAVE TO COME IN TODAY, OK? WE’LL JUST HANDLE ANY ORDERS. X

How sweet, right?

Not.

She might be my right hand lady, and one of my favorite people ever, but she only wants an excuse not to come into work; or, to come in, and not work.

‘Handle the orders’; Pfft!

More like, order the handles for her kitchen cabinets which she’d been pressing me to pick for her.

I slipped into my black high waist skirt, with white piping, over a white frilly top and my red platforms.

I curled my hair slightly and slipped on my huge shades – my eyes screamed ‘weeping hangover’.

As I drove to work, I pushed Matt out of my head, and thought of the new orders we’d just got.

Basically, Darren, Barnes & Co. – the company where I work as a creative director – is a graphic design company.

We handle the graphics for web sites, publications (magazines, newspapers, and books), advertisements and product packaging. For example, a product package might include a logo or other artwork, organized text and pure design elements like shapes and color which unify the piece – that is, the graphics.

Being the creative director, I’m in charge of the design, vision and direction of the project; ultimately, I’m responsible for the quality of the final creative work. This means I get the lion's share of acclaim when we win awards, but conversely, I shoulder the negativity and the blame when a project goes wrong, or if the client dislikes an idea.