My Mother has insisted that I write a happy story.
I’m here as narrator, to tell you a beautiful, modern day tale. Well, the beginning of one. I can continue if my audience wishes this to be a novella….
Once upon a time (because twice makes it repetitive and thrice leaves us yawning) in a land somewhere lodged between our imagination and our delusions, there lived a beautiful, young girl. Of course, our heroines are always beautiful and never disfigured or hit with the ugly stick. She had long, golden hair, rich in depth with hints of caramel courtesy of L’OREAL 7.3 and the cappuccino wash her hairdresser weaved in. Well, if anyone was worth it, she was. Her eyes were big and round like that of a startled deer and the bluest of blues akin to a Mediterranean sky in the height of summer. Some thought it was down to the coloured contacts, luxury fibre eyelashes and her addiction to amphetamines but it wasn’t like that; she was a natural with just a soupçon of aid from the lip fillers, Botox and biannual face peels. Her figure had an hour glass seem woefully lacking with sensual curves that would make Jessica Rabbit puke with envy. Of course, Daddy had paid handsomely for her double D, pert chesticles in an attempt to save her from social anxiety and they vastly improved her Instagram following. Her waist, so slender, the high school beef cake could get both his hands around it. Of course, the torso shaping corset helped to keep her pencil thin and even though she could hardly breathe or swallow her undressed, rocket leaf salad when wearing it, her sacrifice didn’t go unnoticed. Fainting was an art form and often attracted new, chivalrous admirers and so much more attention.
Dyamontay, the name of our beautiful heroine, because naturally she had a one off, made up moniker that nobody could spell or even believe. She told everyone it was of French origin even though the only French word she knew was Paris which was the name of her biggest, female, high school competitor. However, Paris remained a size 2 despite being proficient at bulimia and could never match the perfect size zero of Dyamontay. In class or social photos, our heroine would make sure she stood next to Paris on purpose for digital proof of her superiority, and after two whole days of water dieting of course. It wasn’t long before the stress of it all got to Paris, who ended up being carted off to rehab with a serious twitch and an expensive addiction, poor thing.
However, Dyamontay had so many friends it didn’t matter. Her Facebook boasted 2472 of them and her twitter almost double that. Her popularity increased on a daily basis particularly with her in depth posts on the latest designer heels, dressed up pugs and celebrity knowledge. She read all the glossy magazines on a weekly basis, even though it tired her out dreadfully, she’d heard somewhere that reading broadened the mind, whatever that meant. Her dedication to to the important things in life clearly set her aside from her peers. Dyamontay didn’t have time for any other hobbies apart from calorie counting, the art of precision face contouring and practising her most flattering angles and poses in the mirror. Her less attractive friends tried to overcompensate with wit and intellect but they never got as many likes as she did. Boys didn’t care for that sort of thing in her opinion and she wondered why some girls worked so hard to be inappropriate rather than pretty; still, not everyone can be a princess. Boys preferred it when you flicked your hair and laughed at everything they said, even if you didn’t understand them. Most young men followed her around, catering to her feminine whims and offering their help when she found things difficult like heavy, unnecessary text books, bumpy tarmac that played havoc with her Laboutin’s and simple multiplication. Every which way she turned, a young stallion would be there to facilitate her needs and desperately try to accommodate her. All bar one, a rather naturally handsome guy who studied way too much to be normal and had a rather biting wit which completely baffled her. His name was Tom which she found dreadfully boring and chose to call him Tommy. He clearly wasn’t from money with such an unimaginative name and by the simple High Street clothes he wore. Still, it amazed her how well he could pull off a peasant style look with such confidence. He would generally ignore her if she spoke to him or provoke her with complicated questions she didn’t know how to answer. He was clearly mentally challenged and only went on to prove her theory by dating a girl with mousy hair and cankles.
Though this boys lack of sense irritated her to the point of madness, her goal was set on landing Bradley, the high school football star and beefcake, as expected. This didn’t prove a challenge in any way at all as Bradley seemed overly fascinated by the buttons on her pretty blouses every single day. Two simple dates passed by where she pretended to be interested in football and he pretended to know the colour of her eyes and by date three she found herself locked in the bedroom of a beach front mansion, at a high class party. Dyamontay found herself to be a little bit tipsy on the two bellini’s she’d imbibed but knew the level of expectation to keep her beau.
Whilst she had no experience on snake handling she’d made the time to study the art by coming across the mysterious collection of videos she’d found on her Fathers computer when she was looking for his bank balance. It must have been Daddy’s secretary that put them on there when she worked overtime at weekends when Mommy went on one of her many, ‘Ladies days’ and ‘Tennis tournaments’. She looked the sort that didn’t have breeding and her Daddy was often having to take her off in private to have a word with her. He really was far too accommodating.
The animalistic antics that she viewed had terrified her somewhat and made her feel exceptionally nauseous, putting her off the 12 vegetable, lose weight faster, smoothie she usually had as a treat but Dyamontay knew these things were important in order to snag the deal long term. She also knew that just being her meant that half the battle was already won and the situation would likely to be over rather quickly.
Bradley didn’t waste any time fumbling around with her assets which had no effect but to irritate her when he inadvertently dislodged the ultimate lift, bra tape that kept her looking glorious in her backless dress. Thankfully, getting past the high waisted, tummy tuckers would be almost impossible for him since he had fingers the size of sausages. She’d even broken a nail herself getting the darn things on and had to call for an emergency manicure. Dyamontay made it clear to Bradley that she wanted to take things slowly and one step at a time. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to her voiced opinion and merely grunted, pretty much like the men on the videos, as he continued to work out how a halter neck undid. She removed the super strength,anti bacterial hand sanitiser from her Valentino clutch and set it to one side. The mouth wash wouldn’t be needed until she had a rock on her finger, then and only then and on very rare special occasions, like needing a soft top Bentley, would that be necessary.