Good Enough

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The eyes of propriety on Monday morning gasped at the sight of Catherine sprinting along Cheapside, elbowing the townies who crossed her path.

A tiny poodle took offense at this rogue behavior and bit off the bottom hem of her trousers. The coffee Catherine held so dearly spilled onto her wrinkled white blouse.

With no time to stop, she continued sprinting, ironing the creases on her blouse and trousers with her dainty fingers. The beauty of owning a white shirt and black trousers was that no one could guess if Catherine had one or many.

Her boss’ eyeballs dilated with horror when she arrived at the office.

Is this how you will sell Cashmere to success?” asked the boss.

Catherine’s boss had a business of selling Cashmere scarfs to the shiny houses of “success” in the town.

I will charm them with my words,” said Catherine.

No one knows if it was the boss’ prejudice or Catherine’s pride, but at midday, Catherine was unconscious on the floor, being fanned by sweet old Priscilla.

Success looked at Catherine and sighed in despair. What a sorry state of affairs. It was not something they could associate with publicly.

Catherine’s numb brain could pick up the whispers of the customers and the inception of her boss’s anger.

She made an attempt to rise to the call of duty.

Her body refused her command.

What would save her?

A redirection. A story. Words.

A live mannequin to show the mundane of life. All I need, is that one Cashmere scarf to hide the horrible, unacceptable and untimely coffee stain that threatens my success,” Catherine screamed.

Silence. Thoughts. Analogies.

The metaphor was hard to miss.

Success rushed and bought all the Cashmere scarfs that afternoon.

It must have been Catherine’s genius- who knew success had flaws or secrets that needed hiding.  

At a quarter past three, the boss sent Catherine a few words of admonition.

Luck won’t favour you always.

She thanked the boss for the gift of perspective.

At six pm, Catherine sprinted to pitch herself for love to her date at Soho. The coffee stain was still visible on her blouse. The creases still intact.

Of course, the pedestrians judged her appearance. But how many of them would care to find out the true story of her day?  

As the whispers of judgment grew louder, she put on her headphones and played her favorite song.

“What a wonderful world.”  

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