Swati Sharma - Fashionably Yours

Three highly unpleasant minutes later, I gained some control over my trembling body. Clutching the sides of the cornflower blue washbasin, I tried to composed myself and shove some oxygen into my lungs. As I looked up I found myself staring into the flea market bargain mirror with a cheap wooden frame. Someone with smudged lipstick, runny-sticky mascara and violently screwed up hair stared back at me. Was that me? I wondered. It made absolutely no sense. In a half-numbing and half-wondering state, I grabbed the disgusting blue colored Listerine from the cabinet and rinsed my mouth.

Wandering back into the room, I tried very hard to figure out what exactly had happened. As my mind was doing an absolutely rubbish job of remembering anything, from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of the coffee machine. It was staring at me innocently and inviting me to have that one, tempting brew which might help me to understand that what the freaking hell I was doing in my flat when I should have been getting wasted over one too many drinks in a club. I headed towards the kitchen very carefully and gracefully, carefully avoiding the pile of empty pizza boxes.

Plugging in the coffee maker, I placed my favorite polka dot vintage coffee mug under the nozzle and set the timer.

“OK. So now what I am doing here? Why I don’t remember coming back to the apartment?” I asked myself and waited for some no-nonsense answer.

Precisely after one minute, the intoxicating brown liquid came flowing out of the nozzle and filled my cup to the brim but my question remained unanswered. Damn.

Flopping down on the sofa in the living room with a warm cup of coffee cradled between my palms, I stared into the distance.

What the hell was I still doing here? Did I pass out after that last glass of Pinot Grigio and not make it to the party?

No. That couldn’t be true. I remembered leaving my flat last night and somehow had a vague memory of someone sitting on Sameer’s lap.

Then? Could it be possible that I went to the party after all and passed out after getting wasted over one too many drinks?

But if I passed out on some dirty sofa of some dark, smoky club, how did I get home? I certainly didn’t have any memory of leaving the club or getting back to the apartment. While still ruling out various possibilities, I took a huge gulp of the coffee and as its bitterness touched my taste buds, I wanted to puke.

Very ungracefully, I was sprawled on my sofa in the dress from last night and smudged makeup when I heard the key turning in the lock. Before my mind could wander off to crazy imaginations, Anu walked into the flat in the same black and cream dress which we bought yesterday for the party, clutching two cups of Starbucks and a heavily laden brown paper bag.

“What are you doing here?” I asked while scrambling into a sitting position.

“Want some coffee?” she asked, completely ignoring my question.

“Never wanted it so bad.”

I had a feeling that something was very wrong. Terribly, ethically, horribly wrong.

“Here,” she passed me one cup, placed the brown paper bag on the table and gracefully arranged herself on the sofa besides me, carefully avoiding my gaze.

“What are you doing here? Why are you still wearing your dress from the last night?” I asked.

“Unfortunately I didn’t go to the party with an overnight bag because I had absolutely no plan of coming back here with you. Wish I had the power to see the future,” she said sarcastically.

I could bet there was something definitely wrong because Anu didn’t do sarcasm, ever.

“You stayed here last night?”

I ignored the burning sensation on my tongue caused by the steaming hot coffee and concentrated on her instead. Why did she spend a night here? Wasn’t she supposed to be with her awesome boyfriend in his posh apartment after a completely fabulous party?

“Yes.”

She was talking in monosyllables now. Fantastic.

“Why?” I asked gingerly while peering over my coffee.

“Because you didn’t leave me any bloody choice,” she screeched.

“What?” I was flummoxed.

“Stop playing this fucking why-what game with me. Do you have any idea of the damage you did last night?” she screamed.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I whispered. It was the truth.

“Talk louder for Christ’s sake,” she screamed, again.

“I don’t know what you are on about,” I said with blank face and equally blank mind.

“Are you even serious?” she threw me a disgusting look.

“Yes.” I looked at her with panda eyes.

“My goodness. The nerve of you,” she jumped to her feet like a ninja and for one second I thought she was going to kick me in my head. “You fucking slapped my boyfriend, well ex -boyfriend, called one of his friends a slut, poured wine on another friend’s jeans, broke his BMW’s window, forcefully opened the door and peed on the driver’s seat.”

“I peed in a BMW?” I was in shock.

“You did,” she breathed.

“Why would I do that?” I croaked.

“You seriously don’t remember a thing?” she looked at me suspiciously.

“I don’t.”

“Well,” she placed her hands on my shoulders and forced me to sit down, “Last night when you arrived at Sameer’s birthday party your mood was already off and on top of that you were quite tipsy.”

I knew she was putting it mildly. With the amount of wine I had had last night I couldn’t be any less then horribly drunk.

“You went totally out of control when one of his friends accidently grinded his shin against your arse and you poured red wine on his jeans, which to be honest would have been a first reaction of any sensible girl. And then Sameer started to act like a total moron. He pulled Reeva on his lap and buried his face in her cleavage while she cracked all sorts of dirty jokes. And before I could do anything about it you grabbed her hair, dragged her off his lap and slapped him on the face.” She looked at me wide-eyed.

“I tried to stop you but you wouldn’t listen. And when I finally managed to get you out of the club, you went all cuckoo at the sight of his BMW in the parking lot. You broke the window by bashing your Aldo against it, opened the door and peed all over the driver’s seat,” she breathed. “Do you seriously not remember any of it?” she was astonished.

“Wow. Did I do that? Like actually?” I couldn’t believe my ears. I had never hit a fly in my life.

“Yes. You did.”

“And you are angry because?”

“I am angry not because of what you did to him or his friends, they totally deserved it. I am angry because he can report you to the police for violence. It’s a BMW for crying out loud,” she was genuinely concerned.

***

One long shower later I was sprawled on my sofa in my last clean pair of pyjamas and a slightly faded Mickey Mouse T-shirt besides Anu who was looking completely stunning in one of my long T-shirts despite of the fact that it was two sizes too large for her. She made it look chic, like a T-shirt dress. Yes. Sometimes I did hate her.

“Do you really think he’ll report me to the police?” I asked while slowly working my way through the blueberry muffin.

“To be honest, not really,” she said with a very calculative face.

“But just an hour back you said he would.”

“Well I didn’t say he would. I said he could ,” she correctly pointed out. “Listen, babes, he may be a bit of a twat but he is very sensitive about his ego and pride. Though he would want to get back at you for what you did to his car, he is too much of a ‘man’ to go to the police and accept that a girl damaged his car and pride.”