"But it looks so good on you! Don't take it off!" Frankie waved her hands, begging. With a frustrated grunt, I managed to pull the super tight miniskirt off. It fell to the floor and I sat down to untie the ridiculous, cheetah-print high heel shoes. In the past two hours, I had concluded that Frankie considered herself a fashion expert. She was really good at making dumpster clothes look designer-made, but her personal style didn't suit me. I looked at my reflection in her mirror. When Susan introduced us, I had no idea what I looked like. I had gotten to know myself quite a bit those two hours. I had an oval shaped face with a long nose and green eyes. My hair was dark brown and was slightly wavy. I had changed clothes so many times and none of the flashy, sequined frocks were appealing to me. I must be a t-shirt and jeans sort of girl. I had also learned that we both liked Taylor Swift and old Rock & Roll songs; though she was a lot more obsessed with David Bowie than I was. I plopped down in the overflowing closet and sifted through all the pieces of clothing, searching for anything less flamboyant.
"How many dresses do you HAVE?" 34... 35... 36... This is insane! I dug and dug through the piles of satin and tulle. Then, I saw it; a small pinch of grey-ish green. My fingers grasped the fabric and pulled out a pair of cargo pants. They were old. They were dirty. They were acceptable to wear. I shoved my legs through the pant legs and zipped them up. Hands on my hips, I glanced in the mirror. They fit great. Perhaps a little loose around the waist. A belt will fix that. I turned and returned to my search.
"Aw, Angie." Frankie face-palmed. "The one time you approve of something and it's beat up, old pants?"
"Apparently we have different opinions on what 'cool clothes' are. Sorry, Frankie, but I like them a lot... Ah-ha!" I snatched up my second prize; a black t-shirt. I turned and displayed my new find to her. "Pretty cool, huh?"
She groaned and her hands flew up in defeat. "Fine, wear junk if you want. But if you ever want a makeover, you know who to talk to."
I found a brown, leather belt and threaded it through my belt loops. "Who, the fish guy?" I smirked as she fell back on the bed, laughing. I had already told her about my little play date with 'Fuzzy'.
"His name is Slick, girl." She walked to my side and started playing with my hair and motioning for me to sit down. Obeying and flopping on a squeaky chair, I thought aloud.
"Who's his girlfriend? The cat lady. Do you know her very well? Not that I care, but..."
We talked for hours, about clothes, about Ruby Queen the lioness, and about our dreams and interests. She had more to talk about, obviously. Susan was right. Frankie and I did become fast friends; and I was happy.
