“Nothing important,” he said, with an insincere smile. His tone said, “nothing you’d understand.”
Frank – who had promised to see me through this ghastly affair, the turncoat – claimed his attention with a question. I turned away, fighting a blush.
It didn’t help that I was wearing Suzanne’s cast-off Chanel. In my own clothes I’d have been armoured, even in a dress ten years old. Instead I felt like a fraud. Worse than a fraud: a little girl in her party best, thrust unkindly into an adult party. I was tempted to act the part, plant an elbow amongst the dishes and display my discontent.
Frank recalled my attention with unaccustomed formality.
“Perhaps you could help? Mr Shaw’s answer has me rather confused.”
That I doubted – Frank’s my best student – but I took the offered gift, and together we performed a public dissection on the misconceptions of a bore.
Now, Word says that this is 150 words, and WordPress that it’s 154. I struggle with brevity at the best of times, and I choose to believe Word. For masters of brevity, and the photosource that inspired me, follow the VisDare link.