She looked at her hands. The broken nail marred the perfection of her beautiful manicure. She hated the jagged line and the sheer horror of it all struck her again.
It had been stupid, careless and unnecessary. She knew what was at risk as she looked at the parcel in front of her. She thought it was flowers. Well, when the postman had asked her to sign for the package she had examined it carefully and Interflora was quite obviously what she had noticed. It couldn’t wait; there were flowers inside and waiting until tomorrow, her birthday, was not an option.
The scissors were obviously and annoyingly not in the designated drawer in the kitchen so she had attacked it with her bare hands. Damn the children, they never ever replaced these things in the right place. Could have been the cleaner, she mused. Whatever, they were not to hand and this was not unusual.
The beauty salon were understanding and appreciated that she really could not contemplate turning up at her birthday party with one nail awry. Quite out of the question they had agreed and her appointment was arranged for ten. At least they understood the ghastliness of the situation; something that her husband singularly failed to grasp when she phoned him to explain why she couldn’t stay at home to have the boiler fixed.
Continue reading “Manicured to death: September Competition”
Boadicea's Chariot 
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