Feet

Started: 150116

This was written over the course of my 50-minute long English class, hence why it's so short and rushed. 

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There are nine people sitting in a somewhat circle in a silent waiting room on a Friday afternoon. They're all waiting for an airplane that's going to take them home, or take them further away from home than they've ever been. Howsoever the case, there are nine travelers on the run in this waiting room on this afternoon.

Closest to the bathrooms sits a lady with her feet in high heels firmly planted on the royal blue carpeted floor. The open toe of her Louis Vuitton pumps shows off her newly pedicured nails, not a single speck of dirt visually stains her surface and maybe that's for the best, because ladies like her have their lives together and under control, and they know what they're doing. Dirty feet would destroy the illusion of impeccability that surrounds ladies like her.

The soles of her shoes are jet black, a sharp contrast to the stark white leather the rest of the shoes are made of. Just like her shoes, the lady sees the world in black and white, in yes and no. If something isn't excellent then it must be horrible and if it isn't fascinating then it has to be boring. She likes to use words like always and never, both polar opposites and they help her by making her situations sound much more drastic than what they are.

She's always disappointed in her husband because he never does anything for her.

This lady has a habit of camouflaging her problems with cheap and indolent methods, the dents on her seemingly flawless and elegant name-brand shoes are carefully covered by nail polish in the same color. These shoes have been worn for years and the lady is lucky they aren't a one season model, they have been on the market for the longest time. Because of the durability of this exact shoe model, she can carelessly trot around the streets of LA without worrying about whether the exclusive housewives will judge her or not. 

It's because of ladies like her on the Rodeo Drive sidewalk that a constant clicking of expensive heels can be heard all year around, almost like a nonvocal advertisement of their wealth.

Her toenails are gleaming in the fluorescent lights, the dark burgundy color radiating make-believe luxury and fortune. If one were to look closely enough, the small stains of nail polish on her skin would expose the fact that the lady next to the bathrooms pedicured herself just before going to bed last night. 

She didn't visit a high-end nail salon to get her toenails beautified as many would imagine, no, this lady is very avaricious and hardly likes to spend her own money. When she does happen to spend dollars on overpriced items, it's her husband's card she's swiping, or maybe the money belongs to the old millionaire who lives two blocks away from her. 

On one of her ankles, the left one, she's wearing a copper anklet with a logo engraved, the exact same logo of the business the old millionaire runs. And everyone knows he doesn't sell logotyped anklets at his office. This lady is most certainly having an affair with the millionaire two blocks away. Maybe she's on her way to meet him in Barbados.

And maybe that's why she's sitting in a quiet waiting room on a Friday afternoon with her feet planted firmly on the floor and her jewelry proudly displayed on her left ankle. Or maybe she's there for a utterly different reason. It's hard to see the true colors when all you have is preconceptions.

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Finished: 160116