Fashionably Yours. Swati Sharma

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       3

       May 31

      Today I woke up to a not-so-unexpected phone call. What on earth could Mom want from me at six-thirty on a Friday morning? With my Blackberry in hand I was deciding between red or green and before I could press the red button, the ringing had died. I thanked my karma. Mornings are not the time to talk to your mother, someone else’s mother or any mother on earth in general.

      When I reached the office I spent an hour networking on social media. Networking is nowadays a must and of utmost importance for every business and profession and what could be better than Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest. Logging out of my said accounts, I typed Harrods in Google’s search bar and promised myself that I would use it only for reference for my next article on ‘Global Online Shopping Trends’ and not give in to the temptation of browsing it’s gorgeous collection of bags, shoes, clothes and accessories. I knew it was going to be tough but I couldn’t risk being caught. As the website opened, I got the feeling that I was going to fail spectacularly and before I could accept my defeat I heard the clatter of stilettos in the lobby which was getting louder with every passing second. Before I had the chance to crane my neck to view the owner of the nude silk and leather Nine West peep toes, I knew who it was.

      “Hey darling,” Veena flashed a crooked smile.

      “What do you want?” I asked sternly.

      How dare that bitch look like the Indian version of Posh without fake boobs? I just couldn’t understand how someone could afford a Zara dress, Nine West shoes, Bobbi Brown makeup and a Charles & Keith handbag when they were a mere receptionist. That too in a not-so-high-flying firm like Style. I mean even Natasha could only afford M.A.C. In between all the shabby and tackily dressed employees of the office, Veena looked like she owned all of it and we worked for her.

      “Relax. Why so rude all the time?” she smirked, while waving a fluffy white envelope on my face.

      “What’s that?”

      “Oh this? This is for you. That’s why I came here to deliver it personally,” she said.

      “Then why don’t you just give it to me and go back to your work,” I snapped before snatching the envelope from her perfectly manicured fingers. “Oh. Credit card bill,” my face fell.

      “Yes. Your credit card bill,” she looked down at me. “I knew you were poor but didn’t know things were so bad,” she said in a sympathetic tone.

      “How dare you read my personal documents?” I hissed through clenched teeth. “And I am not poor.”

      “Oh come on. Don’t be such a snob. I just accidently opened it, not like I meant to,” she feigned innocence.

      “I would really appreciate if you won’t repeat such accidents in the future,” I shot daggers at her.

      “See, some accidents are fortunate accidents. Now I know about your poor financial condition, I can at least help you. What are friends for after all?” she grinned. The nerve of the bitch!

      “For the last time, I am not poor and I don’t need your help. Just leave,” I said sternly.

      “Come on, babes. I can set up a donation campaign for you if you want. What about gofundme.com?” she ignored my warning and continued to spit poison at me.

      I was boiling with anger and ready to burst and burn everything within a hundred meters of me when I saw Natasha emerging from her cabin and thought better of it. Natasha hated me and if I started screaming or fighting with Veena, she would kick me out of the office for creating unnecessary drama. So instead of waiting for Veena to leave I decided to do the honors.

      “Excuse me, I have to go to the washroom.” Leaving her hovering over my desk, I picked my way out.

      Sitting on the toilet seat with a crisp sheet of the credit card statement in my hands I was thinking how sensible it would be to accept Veena’s offer of setting up a donation campaign. There was no way in hell that I could pay seventy thousand rupees in sixty days. How could I let myself so out of control? Ten thousand for a bloody perfume? So what if it was on sale? So what if it was Chanel N°5? Oh come on! It was Chanel N°5, it was worth every penny, I scolded myself. But how was I going to pay off this bill?

      After crying for ten minutes and practically using up all the water in the city for rinsing my face and rubbing away runny mascara marks, I got a hold of myself and went back to my desk only to find Anu sitting in my chair and browsing through the Harrods website.

      For a moment I thought of telling her about the bill but then thought better of it. I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.

      “Look at those pins. You can give Kate Middleton a run for her money,” I mustered my brightest smile.