Bossy Affairs

Chapter 1- Unfortunate Life

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Rubber<3

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1.

Okay now. Where are my stockings? Take a deep breath and think. In the closet?

 Checked, not there.

In the laundry?  Why in the world would stockings be stashed in the laundry?

 Under the bed? Nope. In the purse? 

A voice cut through my thoughts. “Nina, darling, come get your breakfast.” I heard my stepmother calling me. I cringed internally. Ever since my dad had married her, I detested that she pretended to pose me as her daughter, just to impress my dad. He said it would be good for me to get a mother finally and that I’d be able to bond with her easily.

Sure, I was bonding.

 I tried to calm myself down and replied. “Coming.  Just a minute.”  I knew sure as hell that she wouldn’t know where anything was except her clothes, jewelry or money, let alone a measly pair of stockings.

 I needed to get to work –fast. Today was the day I might get a huge promotion, maybe I’d get a higher position. And today was Saturday as well, and that meant something important. I rarely had Saturdays working; unless it was absolutely urgent. And yes, today was hell important.

 I had two pairs of stocking which I wore to work each day, and they were always reliable. Emphasis on the always. But just today, just this minute, both my stockings had decided to lose themselves. Or rather, hide themselves. I knew this was absurd, but it was like I could almost hear them mocking at me, snickering in their hiding place, laughing over what a dimwit I was who couldn’t even find a pair of stockings.

“Nini!” My stepmother’s unbearably sickly sweet voice, dripping with fake love, floated upstairs and made their way to my ears. “Your breakfast’s getting cold.”  I hated it when she called me Nini. It was her way of showing dad that she had adopted a special name for me. I’m pretty sure he was sitting downstairs right now.

I didn’t bother to reply. She knew I didn’t like her and I knew she didn’t like me much as well. The reason why she didn’t like me was because simply, I wasn’t gorgeous. I wasn’t that tall, or stick thin or have great hair. I was a brunette with wavy, medium length hair and with a healthy figure – I considered myself athletic and fit enough, compared to my peers in my office. I was five foot, 6 inches, and as far as I was concerned, it was a considerable height.

 And my fashion sense? Okay, I have to admit, I was hopeless in that department. Every time I had to go out, I would wonder for hours what to wear and finally end up wearing something that pretty much made me look like Cinderella gone terribly wrong.

Not that I looked anything like Cinderella in the first place.

My step mum, well, she had expected a daughter who was utterly fashionable, drop-dead gorgeous, and someone she could be proud to take to parties and make her friends in her social group jealous to the point of breaking down. Only if one could call them ‘friends’. More like alligators and chickens trapped in the same cage, trying to get along with each other, with the alligators trying not to eat up the chickens, and sometimes, by mistake, they did eat them up. My step mum was one of the alligators. She had powerful friends all around and those who were the chickens, were the ones who were new to a group, were plain fat or hideous (in their words, anyone who had a slight imperfection, be it their hair, makeup, clothes, was termed hideous).