Jeannie was laying casually on my couch when I wandered out of the bathroom with my hair in a big wad on top of my head. “And why is there one curler in your hair?” “Ugh, shit,” I swore, and pulled it out. My hair hung down wavy, except for that one sad loop where I’d left the curler. “I had a moment,” I said. “I thought maybe the curlers, and then I realized that I wasn’t going for Mad Men looks.” “Oh yeah?” she said, turning on my television. “Coulda fooled me with that lipstick.” She laughed, and took a long swallow of Malbec from the bottle I had set on the end table the night before. I puffed out my lips in a heavy sigh. “Really? You gonna drink all my milk, too?” “Nah, you’re out of Oreos.” “Why am I so damn nervous?” I asked her, completely veering away from her presence on my couch, drinking my wine and insulting my lipstick. Oh the lipstick. “Is the lipstick really too much?” She might be abrasive, but Jeannie is a girl who knows her makeup.
