For icanmakebelieve
"What are you trying to be, a twelve-year-old hooker?"
Luella promptly stopped, mid-turn, and placed her hands on her hips, awkward with the twisted top on the dress. "Thanks, just what a girl always wants to hear." Gary shrugged. He'd barely even looked up from the magazine.
There was a severe lack, what with it being summer and all. Of everything. Of motivation, of things to do, of creativity and plans and energy. There had to be some reason he was kicked back in this chair, feet propped up against the wall, no matter how many times Lu had sniped for him to get them down, he was going to get dirt all over it. Gary had never really had respect for other people's things.
Exactly the reason Lu was perhaps getting a little fed up. She'd lost count of how many dresses she'd tried on. Shopping spree, and she'd wanted an honest opinion. Honest honest. Something beyond 'aww, you look so good, you look good in anything'. Gary was honest honest. It was a gift and a curse, considering the comments she'd been getting, this conversation.
Are you pregnant?
The eighties called, they wanted their dress back.
That bow makes your tits look miniscule, that had been a big favorite.
Lu sighed and stepped out from behind the antique dressing wall, cherrywood. "How about this one?"
"Did you gain forty pounds in the time it took you to put that on? Jesus Christ, it's like you're not even trying."
Someone was going to get hit. Luella was fairly sure it wasn't her. Gary crossed and uncrossed his legs, scratched his arm and turned a page, not even looking at her, entirely not bothered by her death glares. It was frustrating! She'd perfected those things and he wasn't even paying attention.
"Do you have any more? Can I leave now?"
"Hang on, okay? I have a couple more."
'Kindergarten chic' gave way to 'tranny housewife' turned into 'what the fuck is that, a life-size, flesh-colored condom?'. Luella gave up. She was tired. She hated shopping. Gary Smith had made her hate shopping. She zipped the last dress, too quickly, irritably, stamped impatient feet out past the partition. She'd given up on putting shoes back on somewhere around dress six.
"Well?"
Gary looked up, blinked exactly twice, and then looked back down.
"That's it? Nothing? No snide remarks? I'm not a French maid? It's not too ruffly? Doesn't make me look fat or scrawny or like some kind of half-fast two-bit hooker?"
Gary shrugged, and idly turned a page. "You had to get something right some time."
Luella officially hated all Gary Smiths.
But she'd found her dress.