GINGER AND BUBBLES

2| SHAZZ

I underestimated the call of the wild woman. The one gliding in the frisky surf in a lacey throw on the beach... turning heads.

Thats me.

She appeared out of nowhere and before I knew it she was teasing the grumblings of my receding femininity.

Receding feminity. Don't wrap your approaching old age in collagen-coated pomp. Let me unpack receding femininity. Your hair is thinning. Receding. Your boobs are sagging, losing firmness. So is your ass, cheeks and lips. Soon the only colour your follicles will low you is that colour sensible colour that witch tattooed on your brain. Grey. Don't get me started on wrinkles. Soon you will look like her with that grey-bearded chin and shrivelled face.

(Sniffles) That's when Bubbles attacked me. Slapped me. Whack. Whack on both cheeks. She grabbed my shoulders shook me to the left and the right like a ragdoll. While my brains figured out what was happening she took her thumbs, pressed them on my eyes and swatted away the tears threatening to blur my vision.

Stop your whining. Life is a gift. Rip off the damn wrapping!

Bubbles invaded my head about a year ago, around the time I turned 31-years old. She became louder and more opinionated as the days went by. She never tires. Never sleeps. Always interferes with my thoughts and my decisions. She  confuses me. Disrupts my routine she keeps me awake and she—

There's enough time for sleeping when you're dead. Grab life by the nipples Shazzy and twist the pleasure out of them.

Nowadays I oversleep. That never happened before. I cut corners on my morning routine. I struggle... with basic decisions—what to wear and, and what to eat... I am distracted. Forgetful. Late. I under-perform at work. That's a problem. A huge one—

Thirty is a bitch. I know. But those colour contacts and the hair and the lacey throw with the stilletos can do some damage control. It is a start but, still, too mousey. Throw in the boob job. The botox, Suck them thighs. Get a nip here and a tuck there... Put that in your Saturday juice.

That's how Bubbles tormented me. Even in my sleep I heard her whisper in the dead of night.

What about the bombshell on the beach? The masked one all tied up, wrapped in skin-caressing leathers with gaping holes on strategic zones writhing under the caress of feathers and chains and—Open your eyes. Look at her—

And in stepped Ginger. Out of bed. Up. Prepare lunch. Organise wardrobe. (Grabbing head in both hands) I am Suzan. Dorel. Delheim. I am Suzan. Dorel. I am Suzan—

Dump that boring name and give that witch the middle finger. She sucked the joy out of  you, you little dumb dormouse. Open your eyes. Take a look around you... (Protracted silence) She turned your life into shit. Wrapped it in a page of her Bible and handed it to you as the gift of life. (Laughter)

Fight back, Suzie. Make an appointment with Dr. Mariska. Today. I beg you... You are no match for Bubbles. Not anymore... She is stronger than both of us — and I am addicted to her...

You are Shazz. Sparkling Shazz. New, and improved. Draped in lace, bling and stilettos. Effervescent like orange. Unpredictable like yellow. Strong and bold like red. Dark and mysterious. Like black.

I, Suzan. Dorel. Delheim am losing my grip on everything I once thought was important in life. The voices are getting louder.

Mine.

My daily routine... the execution of my to-do list no longer enthuse me.

Not that daily routine again. We are past all that waste of time.