She always hated going to these blasted things.  She was on the floor struggling to shove her foot into her combat boots, probably a consequence of refusing to untie them.  But they had been her favorite pair since she grabbed the no name boots off the shelf from some no name store downtown last summer.  For eighty-nine bucks she figured it was a steal even when the little bastards began to fall apart.  They were perfectly tied for a snug fit and quite honestly that simple knot was probably all that was holding them together.  She threw her body back on to the wood floor in her living room and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes.  She could, without a doubt, fall asleep just as she was so she reluctantly dragged her body up, grabbing her oversized tote off the sofa.  She glanced at herself in the mirror before exiting, realizing how ridiculous the large bag looked with just her wallet inside so she grabbed the Jeffrey Campbell Oharas that were sleeping by the door and threw them inside.

The moment she put her hand on the knob Queen started barking and rushed towards her.  She picked the little ball of black cuteness up and gave her a quick Eskimo kiss, “mommy will be back…I promise.”  She rushed to the kitchen threw a treat in the farthest corner and darted for the door.  She managed to squeeze out just before Queen made it.  She ran her hands down her feather skirt to ensure it was still intact and that nothing managed to get caught in the door.  With its reassuring fuzziness she marched out the door of her apartment building, shoving her Ray Bans on her face and greeting the 90 degree weather.

Her bright red jeep was parked a block away, right on the border of the two neighborhoods that separate the adolescent college students living off mommy and daddy’s fruitful income from the millionaires in mansions willing to provide nannies with a rather generous income.  She ran down the hill, not because she was in a rush, but she always liked people to think that just in case some familiar person wanted to strike up conversation at an unwanted moment.  She waved at Mrs. Mascolo, the over-privileged woman whose children she’d babysit whenever she needed a new pair of Litas.  She thought about the JC Lanas she was craving so she stuck her head out the window, “Do you need me this weekend,” she yelled.

“Oh yes, could you,” Mrs. Mascolo said as she threw her hand on her chest.

“No problem, I’ll give you a call in a couple of hours, I’m just headed to brunch.”

She shoved her body back in the car, waving to Mrs. Mascolo before rolling her window up.  She turned the key in the ignition and Foster the People screamed out at her.  She thought about turning the volume down, a result of the sheer terror the sound gave her, but she decided to roll the windows down, turn the AC off and go with it.  Hell, it’s summer now! She chuckled as she looked back at Mrs. Mascolo and sped off.

The group was coming from all over the city so she assumed their brunch spot made sense in terms of locality but she hated going to these elitist restaurants, especially for brunch.  They were always filled with bored miserable mothers and their rotten bratty teenagers.  She literally snarled, frustrated at the fact that should could not bring Sydney.  This group always seems to subtly hint at the fact that guests were not appreciated, particularly if they are not as posh as them.  They had come to know each other from various walks of life, a couple from high school, and she did love them, she just hated being around them.  They always needed to plan their meetings.  They never just came over for pizza and a movie, or perhaps shrimp cocktail and a movie.  She knew this brunch was going to bore her to tears.

She had to park almost a mile from the restaurant.  She refused to pay for some lot.  She actually refused to pay for anything, a lot, a garage, a meter, valet.  While her parents did pay for her furnished apartment, food, and other gadgets and toys, like her $1400 sewing machine, she was responsible for her social life and shopping addiction, furthermore, anything else they deemed unnecessary.  So, she worked and saved her money whenever she could.

She approached the door and could already see Lydia wearing her boring YSL dress she drooled over on their last shopping trip.  She glanced around the room at all of the proper ladies at their tables.  Feeling a bit insecure about her boots, she back away from the door and turned the corner to slip into her Oharas.  They were not as boring as everyone else in there, but at least they were not falling apart.

As soon as she walked in the door she could feel dozens of pupils on her and she made a b-line for her table.  She brushed off that lapse of insecurity, even if she had kept on her ratty old combat boots, her outfit was killer and she could smell the jealousy coming off of every pair of eyes that met her person.

Amanda, her favorite out of the group stood and wrapped her arms around her, “geez, Veronica, now why didn’t I wear that.”

Keep it fun…keep it daring…keep it IL.

Buy the Skirt!