Two Inches Tall

June 10, 2009
By , East Meadow, NY
Tick, tock, tick, tock. I tapped my nails along to the clock's steady rhythm. Sitting on the comfy white chair, I glanced around the office. Everyone gave me a snooty look, probably because of the shoes. Thick, chunky 2 inch pumps on my feet; the others wore 5-6 inches. They didn't need them of course - each woman that walked by was supermodel-tall without their Manolos. Sigh.

"She's ready to see you," the secretary said to me, faking a smile. Her teeth were so blindingly white.
I picked up my handbag, a Nine West tote on sale at Macy's. It contained my portfolio, which had all the outfits I put together. To be a stylist at 24/ would be absolute bliss. But I have to work my way up, starting with being the assistant to Aliyah Mendez, the editor-in-chief.
Walking down the long, narrow hallway took forever, but I finally made it. A. Mendez was printed on a plaque in thin letters.

For a minute, I paused in front of the door and sidled over to the mirror. Hair; wavy, dark brown, with side bangs.

Complexion; I rubbed moisturizer onto my face.

Outfit; Anna Sui cami with a Splendid cardigan and K Karl Lagerfeld skinny jeans, all on the cheap. Good taste is required. Then again, Gucci probably is too.

"You may come in,'" a sweet but authoritative voice spoke. I opened the door.

Try not to fall flat on your face, but of course, I almost did. On two inch heels. I gave her a smile, but she didn't look very amused.

I'm screwed.

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