Glam and the ghetto (updated weekly)

Frenemies - Bella

Daydreams of JC danced around in my mind all morning. My pumpkin Latte mochachino sat un- sipped and vainly cold as I scrolled through his instagram feed relentlessly. With each swipe I was careful not to double tap as I found myself 73 weeks deep into his profile. Which required the discipline of a solider. I felt like a teenager in love. I was so giddy I could barely pay attention to anything Molly was chattering on about. Her voice murmured in my ear drums as my imagination painted fantasies of JC and I in various romantic scenarios.

To my pleasure, a reply to my last message came through to my device which sent electric thrills surging through my body. My heart raced with excitement and my face brandished the grin of a Cheshire Cat. I didn't want him to receive two blue ticks right away or he might think I was some kind of stalker. So I took my attention away from my screen and back onto Molly who was staring at me inquisitively.

"Are you quite alright Elisabella Bartier?" She questioned

"You have barely touched your coffee and were completely oblivious when I told you I would be moving to Syria to start a chicken farm. I think someone's got a little sausage that they aren't sharing with a dear old friend."

Molly peered prominently into the windows of my soul with her teddy bear eyes, as if trying to reveal all my secrets.

I had not yet found the chance to update her about my weekend activities after the club or about my new designer friend. Although it seemed that now the opportunity had conveniently revealed itself.

"Well as it were, I had a chance encounter with a girl who lives on the other side of London after we became separated in the club Saturday night." I began

Molly took a few slurps of her detox green tea in an attempt to wash away her guilt for abandoning me. I continued despite the omission of an apology.

"It just so happens that I was then delightfully introduced to a quite handsome and charming friend of hers who goes by the name of JC. A Barber by trade."

"A Barber!" Molly exclaimed in astonishment. As if surprised that I would ever go for someone with a humble but honest living.

"Do you have a photograph?" She asked

I returned to his Instagram profile, making sure to click the very top of the page so that Molly could not see my obsessive scrolling.

"He's black!" Blurted Molly. Causing several online lookers to focus their attention on us.

"He's black." She repeated. This time in more of a whispering tone.

"Well yes he is of a darker complexion than you or I but I think you'll find him quite fascinating. He has such a wonderful way with words and his outlook on life is endearing."

"Elisabella you can't be serious. A darker complexion? You talk of him as if he's been vacationing in the south of France for the summer. He looks like a drug dealer. Look at his teeth! We really are trying to give Daddy Bartier a heart attack aren't we. Are you in need of early inheritance?"

Molly's words cut deep into a layer of skin I never knew I owned. Was the colour of his skin really the only thing she saw?  I have to admit I was once accustom o the sterotypes of ethnic people but what of his beautiful sunshine smile or his impressive athletic build? She hadn't even heard the way he called me B, for Bella yet. My very own little nickname.