Her legs are freshly waxed, smooth and soft. Her skin, though, is too dry, she thinks, and looks over at the moisturiser, allowing a momentary digression of wistful thinking at the fact that she has to do it herself. She sighs inwardly and reaches for it.

She paints her nails avoiding the thought that this, too, she must do herself. She chooses a rich dark red, carefully applying colour, concentrating, avoiding the edges, the sharp chemical smell wafting in the air. It makes her think of perfume… she really only has one that she likes, she is not really a … Continue Reading