“You look great, Syd, just beautiful,” Jane gushed.
“Thanks.” Syd ducked her head shyly, tucking a strand of hair, freshly dyed and straightened, behind her ear.
“I knew a makeover would be perfect…it would get you out of this…this…funk you’ve been in for, like, ever!”
“Anyway, thanks again.” Syd grabbed the bulging shopping bags from the backseat of Jane’s car, told her friend goodbye, and climbed the three stories to her cramped apartment. It was dark and quiet as she entered. The air was stale and putrid. Something was rotting in the fridge. Her couches were covered with laundry, some dirty, some clean. Styrofoam containers and empty pizza boxes, dotted with crumbs and spots of grease overflowed from the trash can. She didn’t remember the last time she’d taken the trash out. Maybe Monday?
She stepped over another pile of (clean?) laundry blocking the doorway of the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was cut in a wavy long bob, like Taylor Swift’s, and dyed jet black, a makeup artist had spent an hour on her face, contouring and lining and highlighting and doing other things she’d never understand or be able to replicate. She looked pretty. She’d always known she was pretty. But she’d never be able to explain that to Jane. Sweet, clueless Jane, who thought a haircut and a couple of new dresses would solve all of her problems.
She turned on the shower, stripped off her new clothes and sat in the bathtub, naked, letting it all wash away.