The Shambolic Life of Penny Plaine

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     Thank God for Saturdays! By the end of the week I felt as if I’d been slapped around by ten Japanese Sumos. After eight hour days of trying to explain the mysteries of an energy saving credit card to harassed mothers and reward points systems to ancient pensioners, I needed a break. The problem is the way the phone system is set up. There are ten different companies and the phone rings a different way every time, meaning I have to answer with a different greeting every time.

     “Good morning, you’re through to Penny at Simplex, how can I help?” Or “Hi, this is Penny at Electricity Push Plus, how can we add a spark to your day?” I mean, honestly, it’s like some mad complaints department split personality.

Not only that, but I had shattered my resolve spectacularly and visited the coffee shop EVERY day.

I had intended to lie in for hours, but Catherine’s alarm going off at 8am had startled me out of sleep. Catherine is my house mate. I use the term “mate” loosely. We met when I answered her internet advert for someone to share a two bedroom flat in Battersea. On paper, or should I say on screen, she sounded normal. The real Catherine, that she chats on Skype almost 24 hours a day and is obsessed with Star Wars, was hidden for the first few weeks when we were politely formal. My room should not really be called a room; a large cupboard would be more accurate. It’s only about four times bigger than I am. I was having a fairytale moment when I went to buy furnishings for it and so there is more satin than the Playboy Mansion. Catherine has a large room on the floor below furnished like a cross between a doctor’s waiting room and Darth Vader’s boudoir. The living room is strictly her domain, with walls full of action figures and back issues of 'Logistics & Transport Focus' magazine. She works as something clever for London Underground. This means I am never able to complain to her about delayed trains or track defects, and a girl needs to do that occasionally.

     Now the great clothes decision. The only good thing about my job is that I can wear whatever I want, so no nasty uniform or nylon suit jackets and patterned blouses. This sometimes means that by the time Saturday rolls around, my tiny wardrobe is almost bare, as I’ve worn all my good clothes in the week. This was looking like the case, until I found a screwed up lilac silk top that was almost indecently low cut (I was sure Rosa would approve) and some of what Heat magazine refers to as “City” shorts, although mine were indecently short for wearing in the city without tights underneath.

     “Babe!” Rosa greeted me in a cloud of Just Cavalli Pink. Even in her work clothes she looked like an exotic Bond girl. The makeup department was heaving with shoppers. Vanguards of yellow carrier bags descended on us as we hugged. The buzz of female voices like a deafening chorus. Screaming and giggling coming from every angle.

     “Oh my God that boy! The boy from the other night. Oh he is so cute! Paul is his name. He’s been texting me, said he wants to meet me tonight at MoVida!” She led me round the counter and gestured to a high stool. “Put your coat on the back, babe.”

     “That’s good,” I said, slipping off my jacket.

     “Oh my God, babe you can see your bra.” Rosa frowned as she contemplated my appearance. “When I go on lunch, we will go and get you some clothes, you can use my discount.”

     Amid powdering, shaping and brushing, the plans for the date tonight were hatched. We agreed she should look glamorous, but not tarty. Hair should be worn down, with a few waves. Outfit as yet undecided, but definitely heels.

     “If you hate it, just call me,” I said “I’ll probably be out with Suz, but we can always come and rescue you.”

     Rosa brushed a gold shimmer powder on my check bones. The fine horse hairs tickled my skin. I was going to look great! This makeover could be the start of a new Penny!

     “Oh no, it will be fine. He’s so cute. And he does volunteer work with disabled children one night a week. Aww how sweet is that!”

     Spinning you a line, I thought privately. While part of me wanted to shout, “What about me! Why does no one want to take me out? I’ll believe your pathetic lies!” Well, they would want to take the new Penny out!

     “What do you think?” Rosa held up a hand mirror. “It’s called Rodeo Glamour.”

Reflected back at me was a creature I did not recognise. Peacock blue eye shadow was brushed up to my eyebrows which were now needle thin and jet black. Bronzer had given C3PO sheen to my skin. Part Ivana Trump, part Boy George, maybe a touch of Dame Edna. Horrible. Just horrible.

     “It’s lovely.” I heard myself say in a high unnatural voice.

     “We haven’t even started yet babe!” Rosa handed me my coat. “Now it’s time for shopping! You’re going to look so wonderful!”

     I doubt it.