Shona and Freddie were the life of any party. They were boyfriend and girlfriend, although they didn’t share the same address. They had this “thing”. It was always planned. Of course, it had to be planned otherwise it couldn’t have happened. Shona always wore what matched Freddie’s cocktail drink.
Shona would phone Freddie and ask what he was thinking of drinking at this particular party or on this particular outing. A Bloody Mary and Shona would wear red. And what a stunning red dress it was! Tomato was definitely Shona’s colour. A Casablanca and Shona would wear the colours of pineapple and coconut milk. She cut such a dashing figure! It wasn’t always alcoholic either. Sometimes, for example, it could be iced tea. Different colours suited Shona and browns and golds were muted, as if to say “We shall have a laidback evening in a classy restaurant.”
So it came as a bit of a shock when Freddie suggested they have a quiet evening at his place, just the two of them, and he was drinking nothing but water.
It was Fredericka’s first year of teaching at a High School. In fact, it was her first day. The principal had told her to “dress modestly”. Dress modestly! What an old-fashioned concept! What an old-fashioned expression! She would dress tastefully! Fashionably! Appropriately!
Fredericka chose to wear a loose white blouse with the top buttons undone. It was, after all, still hot from the dying summer. And she chose a “modest” brown skirt with a slit up to the lower thigh that was both cooling and feminine.
Well! The testosterone in the class of sixteen year old boys! Fredericka could smell it. It was overbearing.
“Boys! Boys! Open the windows! It’s stuffy in here!”
The excitement when Fredericka reached up to open a high window.
“Boys! Boys! Let us have less tomfoolery!”
That did it. That took the cake. Fredericka would not change the way she dressed. She wouldn’t change because of a classroom of chauvinistic sex-ridden boys. It’s the boys that needed to change. They needed to learn to produce less testosterone. Tomorrow she would begin such a lesson. She would wear the shortest skirt she could find, and God help any boy who misbehaved.
There were six people waiting for a job interview. It was a simple job, but with the difficulty these days of finding work, almost anything would do. The six waiting interviewees were applying for a mail sorting job. Madeline was in charge of the process.
Madeline was dressed in her Sunday best for the occasion. A little bit of power dressing, she thought, a little bit of black; in fact, quite a bit of black. She was startled to overhear, at least she thought she overheard, one of the applicants say to the others, “I don’t think much of what that woman’s wearing.”
The interviewing process began. Madeline gave each a pile of envelops and told them to sort things alphabetically into pigeon holes.
“Times up!” announced Madeline.
“But you never said it was a speed test.”
“Well what do you expect?” said Madeline. “I’m afraid you were all too slow. We shall re-advertise the job.”