as soon as i walked in the door tonight, i heard the strain in my roommate's voice as she talked on the phone (not nyquil lover, the other doofus) i sat quietly in the living room with the t.v. low, and eavesdropped on the conversation, while i tried to look as though i was just being courteous. when she finally hung up the phone, i could tell she was upset, angry, and definitely drunk. i snuck a peek at the bottle of wine on the table, trying to see around the label to gauge just how drunk she really was as she stumbled into the restroom.
i heard the door open, and i clicked the volume up to normal listening levels, trying to ward off the impending story i know she was about to tell me. i go a bit higher, just in case. just as i sat the remote down, she starts to spill. i heard words like lawsuit, mini horses, "that bitch", mom, and some website, all while she's talking to the back of my head. just as i'm about to reach for the remote, my ears prick up.
"style makeover," she says, and i turned around. i apologized, my voice getting higher, and let her know i wasn't ignoring her, i just thought she was still on the phone. she repeated her sentence: "i want a style makeover." i jumped up from the couch and nodded vigorously. i tried to slow down, letting her talk. she tells me to just lay it all on her.
"you need a hair cut. you dress like a 42 year-old single mom. when did u buy that sweater? no one wears turtle necks anymore."
i pulled her upstairs, and it became a full-fledged episode of what not to wear. minus the 3-d mirror, i managed to have her try on a black acetate cardigan, a full length teal, blue and white halter polyester dress with a built in belt, and a pair of skinny, thick cordoruyed pants.
as she pulled the halter dress on, she staggered a bit. she told me even i will say this ones not bad. i pull her into my room in front of the full length mirror. she looks like a bad 90's nightmare.
i found a Rafaela pant suit from the 80's, a orange croqueted shrug that looks like something i would have found in my grandma's attic, and a lot of polyester abstract-printed tops.
as i flung one thing out after another, i realized i couldn't stop. my roommate was going to wake up to a mean hangover, a day full of problems not yet solved, and no clothes to wear. i finally forced myself to fling the tiny, gold and sparkley turtleneck in my hand across her room, and i was done.
maybe i shouldn't have taken advantage of this situation when she was upset, and highly intoxicated. at least she won't remember i told her that she looked like she got her clothes from Rainbow's on Ashland.
i heard the door open, and i clicked the volume up to normal listening levels, trying to ward off the impending story i know she was about to tell me. i go a bit higher, just in case. just as i sat the remote down, she starts to spill. i heard words like lawsuit, mini horses, "that bitch", mom, and some website, all while she's talking to the back of my head. just as i'm about to reach for the remote, my ears prick up.
"style makeover," she says, and i turned around. i apologized, my voice getting higher, and let her know i wasn't ignoring her, i just thought she was still on the phone. she repeated her sentence: "i want a style makeover." i jumped up from the couch and nodded vigorously. i tried to slow down, letting her talk. she tells me to just lay it all on her.
"you need a hair cut. you dress like a 42 year-old single mom. when did u buy that sweater? no one wears turtle necks anymore."
i pulled her upstairs, and it became a full-fledged episode of what not to wear. minus the 3-d mirror, i managed to have her try on a black acetate cardigan, a full length teal, blue and white halter polyester dress with a built in belt, and a pair of skinny, thick cordoruyed pants.
as she pulled the halter dress on, she staggered a bit. she told me even i will say this ones not bad. i pull her into my room in front of the full length mirror. she looks like a bad 90's nightmare.
i found a Rafaela pant suit from the 80's, a orange croqueted shrug that looks like something i would have found in my grandma's attic, and a lot of polyester abstract-printed tops.
as i flung one thing out after another, i realized i couldn't stop. my roommate was going to wake up to a mean hangover, a day full of problems not yet solved, and no clothes to wear. i finally forced myself to fling the tiny, gold and sparkley turtleneck in my hand across her room, and i was done.
maybe i shouldn't have taken advantage of this situation when she was upset, and highly intoxicated. at least she won't remember i told her that she looked like she got her clothes from Rainbow's on Ashland.
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