Getting The Guy

Chapter 2: The Change

Song: Hate Me

Artiste: Pink

Enjoy!

-

***_***_***_***

Sighing deeply, I padded down the stairs in my yellow, polka dot pajamas while running a hand through my tangled hair.

The irritating humming of the vacuum could be heard from the living room as I reached the end of the staircase.

I hope she will be interested in helping me with this. If she doesn't agree I might as well crawl deeper into my shell.

"Wilma?!" I called from the doorway of the living room.

The loud, gurgling sound of the vacuum beat the sound of my voice even though I was shouting like a deranged person.

"Wilma?!"

Still no answer.

When I turned the little corner, I saw her rocking frontwards and backwards as she guided the machine along the carpet.

Seeing as I had no other choice, I trudged towards the extension and bent down. In one swift motion, I unplugged the cord and stood back up proudly. She looked around confusedly and I chuckled under my breath.

The clearing of my throat caught her attention and her head snapped in my direction. Almost immediately, a wide smile broke out across her face. It was so bright that I thought I would lose my eyesight to it.

"Oh hey Vannessa!"

I was then pulled into a bone crushing hug.
And it always amazes me how fast she moves for a fifty year old lady. Her beautifully structured face, gorgeous maroon brown hair and drop dead blue eyes was a sight I never get tired of seeing.

"Hi Wilma," I giggled and wrapped around her slim body.

Pulling away from the almost suffocating embrace, I kept my full attention on her.

"I have a favor to ask you..."

I inhaled a puff of oxygen and exhaled softly, noting how her interest piked with the raise of an eyebrow.

Just say it Vannessa.

"Can you give me a makeover?"

I don't know what I expected exactly. But the excitement she exuded when I uttered the words made me think about what I was about to get myself into.

Her high pitched squealing-which in my opinion, sounded like a pig being choked to death-met my ears. My hands covered my ears like they had a mind of their own.

Her scream pierced my ear canals and I cringed.

Wow, sometimes I mistake Wilma as being a thirteen year old teenage girl who is overly obsessed with hot, shirtless guys in magazines.

Wilma jumped, grabbing my arms and forced me to jump up and down with her. Then she spun me around three times like we were performing the waltz.

I decided to draw the line when Wilma pushed me to the sidelines and broke out into a funky dance from... I don't know when. But it was honestly a disturbing sight to watch and I gave her a look which begged the question if she was mentally challenged.

I better stop this before it's permanently etched in my memory, and I do not need that right now. My dad already does some really horrifying things that I think messed up my memory for life.

"Um, Wilma?"

No answer.

Instead, she began doing some kind of indian dance.... Ok I should say she 'tried' to do some kind of indian dance which involved the thrusting of the hip sideways.