Goldilocks and the British Accent

16 | Skeletons in His Closet.

Goldilocks🚺

"Rose Pink or matte red lipstick, what do you think?" Mom asks as she peers into the mirror, patting her face with her finger.

"Well, any of them will do really," I reply. "Pink would look great on you, makes you look easygoing and carefree. Red would make you look bold and confident, like you know what you're doing."

"Red it is then," she grins, confident with her decision.

At least, it would be one good decision considering that all previously made decisions pertaining to her dressing had been nothing less than poor. Somehow, in her head, work trousers and trainers were a good match, even when you were going to a debate.

Speaking of debates, today would be the first debate between Mom and Rick O'Malley. It would be her first chance to clear up the mess he had put her into. The internet was still buzzing with random photos and videos of me doing embarrassing things. The whole of Canada probably knew who Sophia was by now.

In my head, all hope had been lost. It was a wonder how Mom was able to keep herself together, how she could still bother with what colour of lipstick to wear.

"You know Sophia, when I began running for prime minister, I thought I could be some sort of...consolation prize," she says, applying the red lipstick. "For Trump winning and all of that. Right now, I don't really know. I can't imagine how disappointed everyone must be right now."

"They shouldn't be disappointed in you," I tell her. "You didn't do anything."

"Don't blame yourself Sophia. This is all Rick's doing. He played dirty and he's going to get what's coming to him," she replies. "In the meantime, I'll just keep doing my best, hopefully it'll all blow over."

I shake my head at the comment and take out the last ball of Hershey's from its pack. It wasn't her naivety that caused her to say things like that, it was her excessive optimism.

"Who's going to be there, at the debate?" I ask her.

"Well, the Millers of course, Rick and his wife and a hundred other people from the party. The press will be there too."

I flinch when I realise Theodore is going to be there in his part cheeky part mysterious nature. He made me nervous, I realised, like the kind when you're attracted to someone.

So it baffled me why I was nervous, since I definitely wasn't attracted to him.

"How do I look?" Mom asks, standing up from her stool and striking a pose in front of me.

"Fine. You look fine," I reply half-heartedly, tearing open another pack of Hershey's. She knew what I really thought of her dress, that it was made of the magical essence of medusa's eyeballs and that if anyone was so unlucky as to gaze upon it, they would immediately turn to stone from its hideousness.

But she would stick with 'fine'. 'Fine' was a good enough compliment.

"Thank you dear," she says, picking up her hand bag and motioning for me to get up. "We better get going, I've got an entire country to save. Rick O'Malley is going to wish he never messed with me."

I close my eyes and let out a long breath. Maybe in this black dress and simple ponytail, nobody would notice me. Maybe I would close my eyes for a few more seconds and it would all be over.

When I open my eyes, Mom is only a few metres away from me, I'm still rooted in the same spot, and the 'impending doom' is still very much impending.

***

The first thing I notice entering the debate auditorium is the darkness. Apart from the stage in the front, the entire auditorium is in pitch blackness, almost like a movie theatre except instead of a huge screen in the front, there's a wide stage with two podiums on it, each slightly tilted to the horizontal.