The colours of her week
Monday mornings she’s white and wan, but the book club girls arrive at 11 and a cool chardonnay or two soon restores her colour and sparkle.
Tuesday and Wednesday are red days—she’s off uptown for some retail therapy and wine bar get-togethers. She loves her reds.
Thursday’s vermillion. She feels somewhat worse for wear on Thursday. It’s her down day.
But she’s in the pink on Fridays when her handyman arrives. And she’s flushed as a rose as she waves him goodbye. Friday is her favourite.
Each evening she welcomes hubby home, freshly lipsticked and demure in yellow.
*****
This story is for Friday Fictioneers, generously hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Onto the page 
She’s living the life, that’s for sure. 🙂 Good take, Margaret.
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Thanks, Sandra. She’s not the character I started out to write about, but here she is anyway.
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They will have their way… 😉
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Cleverly written. The innocent theme unveils a secret
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Thank you, Neil. Yes, she’s got a lot of secrets.
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Dear Margaret,
She’s quite the colorful lady, isn’t she? Well done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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You could call her colourful. That would be kind. Thank you, Rochelle.
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Her secret life. At least from hubbie 🙂
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Yep. He’s totally oblivious. How can that happen?
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Great idea, wonderfully executed, with that little note of naughtiness at the end. Well done Margaret!
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She’s a very naughty girl indeed. I don’t think she can keep it up much longer – she’s bound to come undone soon. Thanks for your lovely comment, Iain.
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With all the colours her life is still empty. I like the idea of trying to give meaning where none is with the colours.
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I’m not sure that she sees her life as empty, but she’s bound to burn out soon, and the truth will be revealed. Thanks for commenting, Gabriele.
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One of these days her worlds are going to collide and leave a bit of shattered glass behind. Nicely done.
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I think you’re right. And she’ll deserve it. Thanks, subroto.
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I wonder if she couldn’t do something better like:
she could clean the house for hours
or rearrange the flowers
But that would end badly too like it did for Lucy Jordan
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Your comment sent me off to google that song again. I’d forgotten her name, but the lines that have stayed with me since I first heard them are the chorus – ‘she realised she’d never ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair’. I’ve always thought it was a striking image of disappointment and the loss of youthful dreams.
I think my character is going to end badly, too, actually, but thank goodness I didn’t have words enough to do it to her. Thanks for commenting Bjorn.
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That lady is a tramp!
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🐩 She possibly is.
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I love the countdown of days. The structure really works here. I do wonder what happens on the weekends that leaves her white and wan…
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Thank you for your comment, Sascha. I appreciate hearing what works, and maybe, when I’m feeling resilient enough, also what doesn’t work. Regarding weekends – the only thing that happens is that she has to behave herself while hubby’s home from work. She finds weekends so tedious that she’s totally drained by the time they’re over. 😏
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I like that: she has to behave herself. She sounds like a bird who is caged on the weekends.
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