Awakening

She woke up from her nap cradled between the arms of her brown leather reading chair. She hadn't meant to fall asleep-- she was worried it would mess up her hair which had already been perfectly curled-- but the pacific combination of the afternoon sun and the French film on TV quarreled with her.

She yawned and swung her legs off the arm of the chair and padded her way to the coat closet where her party dress hung on the doorknob. The sun which had previously lulled her to sleep had already put itself to bed. Nothing about the day was warm anymore as she shivered and dropped her jeans in the hallway and stepped out of them. Living alone afforded her such luxuries. She bent forward and tugged her hoodie off, spending a moment to examine her toenails and deciding they needed one more coat if time alloted.

In front of her coat closet, she tied the long black ribbon-- the only thing that held up her party dress-- at the nape of her neck. She raised a hand to her head and mussed up a few curls as she walked to her closet and awoke her party stilletos from their box.

Crossing back into the living room to the guilty culprit, her brown leather armchair, she paused as she caught herself in the mirror's reflection. Out of the corner of her eye, she didn't recognize herself. Now facing the mirror, she still had difficulty with the image before her. The image was beautiful.

She wasn't used to beautiful. She was used to "cute." She was used to "average, but with a great personality." But the image in the mirror wouldn't allow for such words. The hair was perfect, the dress was perfect, the complexion, thankfully, was perfect. For the first time in her life, she thought of herself as beautiful.

"Right now, in this moment, this is the best I have ever looked in my life," she said to herself.

At the party, everyone confirmed her suspicions. Her very gay boss grabbed her, pronounced her belle of the ball, and twirled her-- a favorite activity she usually reserved for behind closed blinds. Men looked her her differently, as if they were hungry. That is what desire must look like, she thought. Desire looks like hunger.

Armed with confidence and heady from spirits, she left and made her way to where old money lives and new money parties. Inside her favorite bar, she was flanked with winks and drink offers. She accepted the winks and turned down the drinks. Never in her life had she been approached by so many attractive men during such a short time span. One man in particular was kind and introduced her around to his circle of friends.

It was the exact moment her confidence waned. The other girls took her hand and smiled, but she didn't match their appearance. She wasn't tan, her hair wasn't platinum, and her skirt covered the entirety of her ass in addition to most of her thighs. But she suspected one wouldn't use the word thighs around the other girls, they solely had legs.

She excused herself from the group. He reached out and extended his hand to her and she took it and squeezed it until the space between them refilled with new people as she made her way through the crowds to the restroom. Instead of using the bathroom, she shook the last few ices cubes in her highball glass and drank the rest of the fiery liquid while staring at herself in the wall-length mirror. She shook the cubes again and set the glass down on the marble counter.

"You're ugly," she spoke harshly.

And she was awake.