Day 85 of 100 Word Prompts: Surgery
Taylor paced at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her best friend to finish getting ready. She could feel her blood pressure increasing with each tick of the grandfather clock that stood next to the front door. It reminded her, on queue, how late they actually were. They were supposed to meet Frank and Dylan in twenty minutes. This was definitely not happening this time.
“Will you hurry up!” Taylor yelled up the stairs, “We’re going to be late!”
“Hold on a second,” Sylvia called back, “I’m almost ready.”
“I’ve been holding for nearly an hour already,” Taylor said as Sylvia appeared at the top of the stairs. “About time, let’s go.”
“I don’t know why you’re in such a rush all the time,” Sylvia said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Boy’s like the anticipation. They should always wait for us.”
“You, my dear, are bat-shit crazy,” Taylor said, opening the door, “and always late for everything. This has nothing to do with the boys. This has to do with you.”
“Don’t blame me for wanting to look pretty,” Sylvia replied as she walked past, leaving a wake of overpowered perfume behind.
“Holy hell, Lady!” Taylor coughed as she followed her outside. “Do you have enough perfume on? If your goal was to be able to hide a skunk in your purse, mission accomplished.”
“My purse!” Sylvia jumped, spinning around as she darted back for the house.
“We’re already late, Sylvia,” Taylor said, shaking her head.
“Two seconds,” she replied as she disappeared into the house.
Taylor pulled the phone from her pocket and saw that she had a message from Frank.
Where are you guys? -F
Taylor typed back quickly.
About to leave Sylvia’s house. OMG, she takes forever!
A moment later, Sylvia reappeared from the front door.
“Sorry!” Sylvia said as she put her hands up.
“You changed your top?” Taylor asked, shaking her head as she slid the phone back into her pocket.
“The other one didn’t go with my purse,” Sylvia replied, holding up the bag.
“Ah, I see you choose the unfortunate soul that had a bad accident in a sequin factory,” Taylor teased. “It shows how big your heart is-”
“Can we just go now?” Sylvia snapped, opening the car door.
“Sorry,” Taylor replied as she got in the driver’s seat and started the car. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.”
“You’re always teasing me for wanting to be girly,” Sylvia huffed.
“That’s been my thing since we were teenagers,” Taylor said as she backed out of the driveway. “Obviously, I’m just playing around. You’re still my best friend after all.”
“I know, but sometimes I feel like you think this is all silly when you know how seriously I take it,” Sylvia said.
“I know how seriously you take all that glamour stuff,” Taylor replied. “That’s what makes it fun to tease you about it. I don’t do it in front of the guys, or even other girls for that matter. I just don’t understand it at all.”
“It makes me feel pretty,” Sylvia said, looking out her window.
“I know,” Taylor replied, sticking her tongue out at her. “I just don’t get it. Why does all that make you girly? I’m girly, but I wear men’s jeans and t-shirts.”
“You’re not girly,” Sylvia shot back with a disbelieving look. “You’re like the furthest thing from girly a girl can get.”
“Alright, and now we’re fighting,” Taylor teased with a wink. “How does what I wear to make me not girly? I am a girl, after all.”
“I don’t know,” Sylvia admitted. “It just feels like girls wear pretty things, and guys wear dirty things. Girls are supposed to be grossed out by things that guys love and all that, right? Am I wrong?”
“I think you might be wrong,” Taylor replied. “Pretty things are a matter of opinion, right?”
“I suppose,” Sylvia agreed.
“Well, when I wear my chucks or my Nirvana t-shirt, it’s because I think they are pretty. It doesn’t matter that I found them in the men’s section of the store,” Taylor said with a shrug. “Besides, more and more things are unisex anyway.”
“I don’t know,” Sylvia said. “I still think that sneakers aren’t ladylike.”
“You’re crazy. Don’t you go jogging every morning?” Taylor asked.
“Don’t you wear sneakers when you jog? I hope to god you’re not wearing heels-though, I’ll admit, the picture in my head of you running through your neighborhood wearing your tracksuit with heels is kind of hilarious,” Taylor said.
“You don’t wear heels with a tracksuit,” Sylvia said. “I wear running shoes, but they are feminine and match my clothes. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I haven’t said that anything is wrong with what you wear,” Taylor said. “I’m just saying I don’t understand why you see a need for it or differentiate any of it. I say, if it’s comfortable, wear it. If it’s not, throw it out. This isn’t brain surgery or anything.”
“Beauty is pain, Taylor,” Sylvia said as the car turned onto Main Street. “That means that sometimes you aren’t comfortable when you look your best.”
“I’d argue that you don’t look like you if you’re covered in make-up and in pain,” Taylor replied.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sylvia replied, shaking her head.
“Alright, I’ll play along, what is the benefit of wearing make-up and clothes that hurt,” Taylor asked. “Who is that for?”
“It’s for Dylan, or whoever I am dating,” Sylvia replied.
“Why not for you?” Taylor asked.
“Because I’m not selfish,” Sylvia replied.
“Ouch,” Taylor said.
“Don’t be like that,” Sylvia said. “You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t,” Taylor said, shaking her head. “Though I’m curious about how my being comfortable is selfish. This should be a good explanation.”
“I didn’t say you were selfish,” Sylvia said. “It’s just that my mother always told me that we pretty ourselves up for our men and the world. We do it so that they can have something nice to look at.”
“Your mom sounds like a crazy woman,” Taylor said. “Men can look at whatever they want, but I sure as hell will never go out in anything less than comfortable just so some dude can get a look at my ass or my tits.”
Sylvia sighed and looked out the window. “Nevermind.”
“I’m just going to put this conversation away in the back of my head, and never think of it again,” Taylor said, shaking her head. “You do realize that it’s 2020, right? Not 1960?”
“I know that,” Sylvia replied without turning around. “I’m just a little old fashioned.”
“A little?” Taylor repeated before she fell to silence.
Taylor pulled into the parking lot, finding a parking space near the restaurant. Just outside, Frank and Dylan sat on a bench, talking to each other.
“What do you suppose they are talking about?” Sylvia asked.
“Women,” Taylor and Sylvia said in unison with a chuckle as they opened the doors and stepped out.
“Here, they are!” Frank said, greeting Sylvia with a hug before turning to Taylor and kissing her on the forehead. “I’m starving!”
“Me too!” Taylor said as they went inside.