Becoming a Babe
Everything about Susie's life was stale.
She got married at 20, and was pregnant at 21,22 and 23.
'I'm a cow' she thought, 'I love them babies, but Jesus, I am 24 and fit for a madhouse'.
She glanced at yer man sitting on his chair, proof of his manhood lying in gingham covered prams, plump babies sucking and mewing and looking so damn gorgeous she knew she'd have another three by the time she was 30.
Thirty, Susie thought, I can't get to 30 and just have pram loads of babies to show for my life.
She wanted to be flirty and flighty and wear inappropriate clothes. She wanted to drag that man out of his chair and dazzle the smugness out of him.
And he would go, Jesus, Susie, underneath all that black rimmed tiredness and coo-cooing of babies, you are a babe.
Yes, a babe, Susie thought, I want to be called a 'babe' just once, stupid word, but I want that word to apply to me, just once.
So Susie grabbed a lipstick, worn but still sufficient for pouting duties. She applied layers of scented make-up, each layer hiding the fear.
She put on her clingiest dress, a little tight, but just the right touch of inappropriateness. I'm looking like a woman of the night, she thought - Good!
She put on her high shoes, uncomfortable - great.
She walked around the room and thought, 'I'm tottering on high-heels, my make-up is stage worthy, my dress is inappropriate, but I'm missing something.
Gloves - that is what it is, gloves to hide my dishwater hands, black...leather...gloves...
Now I'm looking good'.
She looked at herself in the mirror,
'I am a babe' she said to her reflection, quietly.
'What's that Susie?', yer man in the chair shouted up the stairs.
'I AM A BABE !' she shouted back at him, waking at least one of the babies.
She walked down the stairs, black gloved hands tapping on the bannisters, shoes clippity clop on the stairs.
I am a babe, her heart sang.
Posted over on her site Sort of Writing
Listed as #5 over on Magpie Tales 46