Inachevé

Twenty-four - There's Someone Perfect

“She’s ugly!” 

“Bunny face, bunny face!”

“Hey, I found Bugs Bunny’s wife!  Take a picture before she hops away!”

That was all I heard from those posh teenage girls who would come shopping in this store!  I swear! Some of them were so puffed with pride that their noses might as well be stapled to the ceiling!  And the filthy rich ones were entertaining because they would walk around in the stores not looking at anyone because they believed everyone is looking at them, when in reality, every rich lady believed everyone was looking at them; therefore no one looked at each other!

“Hey, Hoppy-Hopkins, did you just get run over by a car?”  teased a young boy as he threw his head back and laughed at his own rather moronic joke.

 What have I done to them to deserve such rude comments?  All I have done was bag their bloody clothes!  Oh, well, it wasn’t any use getting ruffled up by them.  Oh, I haven’t properly introduced myself, have I?  My name is (my parents must’ve had some sick humour when they named me this) Bunny Hopkins.  To my humiliation, my nickname is, “Bunny Hop-Hopkins.”   When I was young, about 13 years of age, I had apparently showed great potential in the academic world. 

Outsmarting my class mates, I had applied to several colleges at the age of 15. 15!  Girls that age are supposed to be learning fashion, cooking, making good friends, and discovering themselves.  I, on the other hand, was shipped off to college to hang out with all the older people who just looked at me strangely.  Not many people welcomed me into their clans.  However, I became acquainted with Helena Smith, who I later turned in for cheating. I graduated from the University of Westminster here in London.   I had been in the Department of Professional Legal Studies.  

I’m sure you are wondering why people have called me “ugly Bunny.”  Well, to make a long story short, my mother met my father, they got married, made love, and out came me.  So, I honestly can’t help the way I look.  I have large front teeth, countless freckles, plump lips, untidy brown hair that falls in my face whenever I look down, pale British skin, and frumpy attire to match.  Sometimes I can wear my black button-down blouse with a deep chest (yes, my chest seems to be the only part of me I can prance about) and a pair of dark jeans.  However, that was only when I felt good about myself, which wasn’t often.  

Sometimes, when I would wait for customers, I would think about sprucing myself up like the many girls I had seen waltzing in, but seeing that I have just graduated from college with practically pennies in my pocket, I couldn’t see it become a reality.  And besides, spas or hair-do’s have not been on my top priority! 

“Thank you for shopping at Harrods,” I said politely as I handed a bleached blonde girl her bag of accessories.   Harrods, in case you’ve never heard of it, is a luxurious store filled with jewelry, fancy shoes, and delicious selections of chocolate and beautiful clothes for both men and women.  I loved working at Harrods because of the payment and because of all the lovely things I wish I could wear or carry around.  I fancied most the diamond-covered purse in the window.  Only three people have bought it because of its absurd price, but my dream is to save up, buy it, and then strut around with it! 

“Do you exercise?” The blonde girl asked as she took the bag from me.  Her friend behind her sniggered and chomped on her gum annoyingly.

“Why do you ask?”  I said, looking around nervously.

“Because perhaps you can lose some weight off your lips!”  The girl burst into laughter and didn’t stop laughing until she reached her car.  Her friend would look back at me and shake her head in distain.