Blue Dress

 

Blue Dress
Clara Brown

She looks like superwoman. She could be wearing a tight blue and red spandex outfit, black painted on boots, blue cape blowing in the wind like her hair. I see her posing, looking off to the horizon. She just might be superwoman.

She is wearing a turquoise dress, a wrap around that hugs her breasts and buttocks. The kind of dress that Fred likes. The kind he wishes I would wear but that I wouldn’t fill out quite as well. Maybe her upper arms are just a tad bit flabby. A tiny—okay barely there—roll around her waist line. Her heels are high and spikey, another plus on Fred’s list. She is tall or maybe it is her shoes that make her look tall. She has good posture.

Her hair is long and black, probably dyed. It flows down to her shoulders perfectly. It is parted on the side. She has a salon tan, maybe two or three weeks’ worth. Her teeth are bleached white. Her eyes are large and white and bright. She has a botox forehead and although her face has no wrinkles, I don’t think she has gone the surgery route. Maybe something but not that. Her neck looks a few years older than her face. She doesn’t have a lot of expression other than a perpetual smile.

Fred describes her to a friend. You know, the woman in the blue dress. Like everyone will know exactly who that is.

I’m finishing my salmon when the MC tells everyone to find that special someone for the next song. She must have been his special someone at that moment, or maybe he didn’t hear the instructions. When I look up they’re both on the dance floor. I see him put the flat of his hand on her back, leading her towards the dance floor. She looks reluctant. They don’t dance long.

The flat of his hand on her back.

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This is Clara Brown’s first publication.

Image: Deconstructing Vogue,  By Leigh-Anne  Fraser