Perfect Strangers

“Oh, it went wonderfully. I spent the first half of the night watching him pick spinach from between the gaps in his teeth, and the rest of night listening to him compare me unfavorably to his ex-girlfriend.”

“Ouch! So, you had fun then?”

Ignoring her friends sardonic tone, she continued to rant. “Then, when he leaned into kiss me goodnight, it was all I could do not to vomit my Beef Wellington straight over his mud-stained Converse’s.”

“He wore Converse’s to a fancy restaurant?” Avery asked, her jaw hung low and her well-maintained eyebrows rose to form a perfect arch.

“Yes, he did. He looked like something I had dragged in from the back street. I couldn’t wait for the night to be over.” Sighing, she turned around to admire her elegant work on the Franco dress.

“Well, I think Cass has a lot to answer for. I thought she said her brother was a looker?”

“Oh, he’s a looker all right, if you close your eyes and pretend he is Channing Tatum,” Myla replied. Replacing her coffee cup with her camera, she set about snapping pictures of the dress for her online portfolio.

“You are so much like Chandler Bing, it’s uncanny,” Avery sniggered.

“Who?” Myla questioned absentmindedly, her focus was honed in on the sweetheart-sequined neckline of the dress.

“Chandler from F.R.I.E.N.D.S? You find something wrong with every man that you date. No dress sense, big nose, hands too small, hands too big, bushy eyebrows, funny eyes, too skinny, too muscular to—”

“Okay, Avery. I get it!” Myla said, holding a palm up to her. “I can’t help it if there is something wrong with them all, can I?”

“No, you can’t, but you don’t give them a chance either. No one is perfect, you could have dismissed ‘the one’ by now for all you know.”

Placing her camera down and retrieving her coffee cup, she narrowed her eyes in Avery’s direction. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. I don’t pay you to sit here and scrutinize my love life, or lack of. Do you have no work to do today?”

“Truth hurts. No one is perfect, including you.” Avery smirked as she patted her on the arm and made her way back into the Boutique, leaving Myla to fester on her words.

*

“This is not the fabric I ordered. I stated quite clearly, fifty meters of plum satin, twenty-five meters of royal blue satin, and forty meters of canary yellow satin, plus eighty boxes of crystal gemstones!” Myla grumbled. Her face was beetroot and her once slick ponytail now sat on her head lopsided.

The delivery driver glared at her sternly. “Not my fault Miss, you’ll have to speak to the picking and packing department, I’m just the delivery man.”

What else is going to go wrong today? “Wait right there while I call them.” She growled, grasping the invoice tightly in one hand and pointing her finger sternly with the other.

Sighing, he looked at his watch. “I’m sorry Miss, but I have another six deliveries left to do today and I’m on a tight schedule. I’ll take these back and you must rearrange for the correct items to be sent out.”

“I’ve waited two weeks as it is for this delivery, I have bridesmaid’s dresses I need to start on and no fabric for them. You’ll wait right there, mister!” She grabbed the phone from the desk, and punched in the telephone number shown on the invoice. After two minutes of pressing different numbers at certain intervals, she was finally on hold to the picking and packing department. Some ghastly music rang loudly in her ear as she thrummed her fingertips on her desk in annoyance.

“Good afternoon, you are through to Fabrics for all Occasions how may I help you?” Came the perky voice from the other end.

“Yes, is this picking and packing?”

“I’m sorry, this is the accounts department, would you like me to redirect your call?”

Sighing, Myla pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, yes please.”

“One moment, please.”

After several seconds of silence, she caught the click of disconnection in her ear cau

sing her to jump from her perched position on her desk and slam the phone down. Racing out to the back of the shop, her stomach rolled when she noticed the delivery man had taken the delivery away and left before she even had chance to rectify the situation.

“Give me a fucking break,” she snapped, spearing her eyes towards the ceiling and clamping her balled fists into her disheveled hair.

“Pssst. Myla, Stephanie Franco is here,” whispered Avery, as she poked her head through the open-door way, “you may want to tidy yourself up.” She winked before removing herself from Myla’s sight.

Grabbing her purse, she sped towards the ladies’ room, pulling her hair down from its hold as she went. “Calm down, Myla, you have this. She isn’t more important than anyone else, just breathe,” she muttered to her reflection as she touched up her make up and ran a brush through her locks. She is no one important. It’s not like she is a famous model for Victoria’s Secret. Right? Wrong!