Dress Code for Hiding in Public

“I can’t believe this needs to be said,” Fat’s face hides behind a paw she holds against the bridge of her small nose as though she’s irritated, “You’re walking a dog, not a runway.”

I stare at her with annoyance as I grab the dog leash off the wall hook. “I’m aware of that, thank you.” As much as I try to force my voice to have a salty edge, it sounds more like a childish tone than anything else. One would think with the ocean only blocks away I would be able to draw some of its icy power, but no. I just pay more money to live near a giant body of water which I don’t particularly like to swim in. Balls.

“So, what’s with the get-up?”

“You obviously mean the awesome in which I am besotted.” I spin to show off my outfit and the tight purple dress doesn’t move. However, not being used to walking in heels, I go rather off-kilter and catch myself against the bedroom door frame. Fuck off, gravity.

“Not one for working the elegant angle, are you? Take a note from me, boss. There is nothing more elegant than fur.” To illustrate, Fat moves in a perfect circle, rotating her head as she turns to maintain eye contact. I would never vocalize this, but damn she can act cool. Once the fur fashion show is over, the cat then sits tall and proud beside the sneakers I would normally wear to take Mutt out.

“Are you suggesting that I scalp you and wear your fur? I’ve thought about it. There are days when it’s tempting, Fat.”

Her jaw drops, “Get PETA on the phone. Now.”

“Please. You know I’m joking. Animal cruelty makes me want to hurt humans.” I begrudgingly release the door frame and stand on my feet with the graceful balance of a cavewoman who just discovered that knuckles weren’t meant to drag on the ground.

“We’re on the same page. Good. So what’s with the fancy get-up if you’re not actually going anywhere?”

“I forget that people can still see me in public when I’m not wearing makeup or proper clothes…”

“You’re an amazon woman in five-inch heels, if you’re trying to hide from the general population I would have to say this is a tremendous failure.”

“I ran into a friend of mine from work the last time I walked Mutt. She always looks effortlessly amazing. It’s not fair. So I’m doing something about it.” I force a smile, even though the black pumps are stabbing my feet like a back-alley hoodlum.

“Can I be honest with you, boss?”

“Aren’t you always?” Balance escapes me and I fall ass over teakettle onto the floor. Fat turns to look at the wall in order to hold in her laughter as I achingly crawl to my knees.

“Christ.” Nope. I quit. I wrench the heels off my feet, throwing them down the hallway into the living room. Dangerous goods, these shoes. I stand with my hands on my hips, angrily fuming at the fact I spent money on those death traps. Damn this dress is uncomfortable. I strip it off, leaving it in the hallway while I dig through the laundry basket to find the jeans and t-shirt I wore yesterday. Yes. Comfort. Long strands of hair fall into my face as I bend to put on my sneakers. Fuck you, hair. I bind it with a hair tie in a sloppy bun. Better. Feeling less of a danger to myself and others.

“Sorry, Fat. You were about to say something.”

Fat looks me up and down with what I want to call approval, “Not important. You seem to have read my mind.”