A Tale of Two Women and their Push Up Bras
Five years ago, a private detective hacked into the email accounts of two well-known women. Can you guess who they are?
Feckless but lusty Rose and too-rich-to-bitch Olivia haven’t seen each other for ten years. Now they’ve finally caught up – by email. Rose has escaped from a sexless marriage by way of a one night stand with sultry Wayne Sexton. But Olivia’s sitting pretty – what could possibly go wrong in HER perfect life?
Anyway Liv, enough about me – how about you. And Steve of course, and – is that really little Vickie in that thing? Is it a dress or a boob tube?
God I can’t believe she’s really a teenager? She’s grown up so fast! Last time you were over here she was only three! Remember all those problems you had with toilet training? The way she used to kind of creep off into the corner of our living room and go all quiet and next thing you know – the dog used to think all his Xmases had come at once!
Oh yeah and do you remember that time we went to the mall and she kept sitting down and taking her undies off cause she said they itched her? And you said little girls who want to grow up to be ladies don’t do that kind of thing, Victoria. And she says “Done WANNA be lady” and Steve says, shutup and put your bloody pants on, you want to end up like your grandma? 150 kilos and opens stubbies with her belly button. And you socked him one.
Those were the days – god, Vickie a teenager – I can’t fucking believe it! So, you know – how’s it all going?
Oh, Victoria! Just don’t ask! Why, that’s all I want to know! Why us!
What? I mean the dress is kind of halfway up her arse but that’s what they all wear these days. Mind you she looks kind of pissed off. She’s not emo is she?
Oh no. Not yet. Just obsessed with boys. Precocious little hussy! I expect she just looks ‘pissed off’ because she’s annoyed about having been landed with well-off, respectable parents instead of drug addicted poets with rings in their noses. It’s been years since she let either one of us park anywhere near the school gates. They call it ‘oppositional defiance disorder’. As for the boyfriend – absolute disaster! I doubt he washes his armpits more than once a month and you can READ the top of his head. It says ‘No’. Just that. When I asked him ‘no what?” he said ‘whatever’. No whatever. Does that make sense to you? NO!
Oh well. I was a bit like that when I was her age, not that that’s much comfort I guess.
It’s funny though, you know how we used to talk about what we wanted our boyfriends to be like, before we had any – when we were at St Mary’s – weird to think we both went to a catholic school even though your mother was a total lush and my dad was a serial cheater – well anyway you used to say you wanted a guy who was rich and successful and was gonna buy you a house with a country estate so you could breed Hanoverian warm bloods?
And do you remember how I used to say I wanted a Rock God? – sort of a cross between Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon, with long hair and tight pants and a big dick!
Yeah well I guess I forgot to bring the shopping list when I went and bought John –typical! But when you get to forty you think, if I don’t do it now I’ll NEVER meet any damn rock gods and I’ll be too old to make out on the kitchen table and wear lacy black lingerie. Or if I did I’d just give some old fart a heart attack and not for the right reasons if you know what I mean. Sad.
Though it’s not like YOU got the big estate and the ponies either huh.
I did buy myself a horse a few years ago. But I seem to have lost the knack for them. Don’t believe what they say about horses – they’re like big clumsy cats really. They’ll just about tolerate you as long as you feed them, but as far as loyalty and affection goes, they’d just rather just be left alone to kick each other and develop expensive medical conditions. Mine was like a top model – it wouldn’t even leave the paddock for less than a bucketful of carrots!
And I didn’t look at all fetching in those tight pants with the leather buttock pads. Does anyone? And why are three quarters of the horse-riding fraternity, frankly, obese? Is it because it’s the only sport where you sit ON the creature doing the actual exercise?
I think wearing exotic underwear is over rated. Steve was always buying me these lacy skimpy little things when we were younger, and one never looks presentable in them. Either one’s pubic hair is trying to make a run for it, or one’s g string is working its way into the lower intestine, or one’s drooping post-pregnancy stomach bulges out the bottom! The best antidote for lingerie is to try it on in a department store three way mirror. The number of times I have been into a David Jones’ fitting room to try on what I thought was quite a seductive outfit, and come out wondering if I should buy a hijab, after looking at my back view – you would think they would change the lighting at least to increase sales, but no, they don’t think of middle aged women when they design fitting rooms!
Fuck no! Don’t know WHAT they’re thinking of actually. Maybe they think the only people checking themselves out in the mirror’ll be Vogue models or something.