not a fairytale

one

 I locked the front doors to the bar with a slight pleasure at 11:59 on a Thursday night, well, I guess it was more like Friday morning.

"Ready to head out?" Ana, the only other waitress working with me, asked as I hung my apron up in my locker in the back.

"More than ready," I replied, "The last group wasn't bad though, they were all hot, polite, except the redhead," I added.

"The brunette was most definitely into you," she laughed.

"Most of them are," I laughed in agreement as I changed from my work shoes into a pair of sandals and grabbed my purse from my locker.

"Are we going out tonight?" She asked as we started the walk back to our apartment building a few blocks away. We weren't roommates, but we had apartments across the hall from each other, which seemed like the best of both worlds. We could crash with each other until we drove each other crazy and then go back to our own little holes and not speak for a whole day if we needed to.

"It's a Thursday," I remarked, giving her a look.

"It's college night at Gio's," she replied.

"Last I checked, neither of us are in college," I replied.

"But we're under 30, which is what they're getting at with college night," she replied, "No creepy 35 and older men to hit on us?"

"Fine, let's go change," I groaned as we arrived at our building.

Don't get me wrong, I was more than a big fan of going out on the weekends, but going out on a Thursday night made me want to question most of my life choices the next morning when I woke up.

But in a matter of twenty minutes I was dressed up and ready to go in a pair of tight black pants and a cropped tank top that was more like a bra covered in sparkles.

"It's just a Thursday night Ana," I laughed as she searched through the closet.

"But I want to look hot, you look hot in everything," she replied with a pout.

"Wear that neon pink top and the black skirt," I replied, "That's hot."
"You think?" She asked.

"Yeah, it shows off the tan you got last weekend, wear those pink shoes with it," I replied, applying lipstick in the mirror hanging on the wall.

"Damn, I wish I was as good as you at dressing myself," she remarked as she pulled the pieces of clothing out of their piles and changed.

"You'd make a lot less of a mess if you did," I laughed.

"True," she replied, slipping her shirt over her head and then running her fingers through her curly black hair.

Ana was Russian and Greek, but if you saw her on the street you'd peg her for Greek over Russian any day of the week with her olive skin, black curly hair, and stereotypical Greek nose in the middle of her face. She could pass off for Italian too, probably easier than I could whenever I decided to dye my hair blonde, which was funny considering I was full blooded Italian, born and raised right in Italy.

But when I'd dye my hair blonde, most people pegged me for a transplant even though you could trace the last seven generations of both sides of my family back to Florence on my mom's side and Sicily on my dad's. But my mom always said when I was growing up that no matter what color my hair was that one look into my deep green eyes and one look at a childhood photo would leave no doubt in anyone's mind of what my heritage was.

"Alright, let's go, I called an Uber, they'll be here in like two minutes," Ana said, sticking earrings in her ear as she walked, "Grab my black clutch from the closet?"