Mild

"Hey Kristin!" giggled Kelly gleefully, as she saw her long-time colleague enter the Gap store.

"Hi Kelly," replied Kristin, walking casually over to the checkout. Her shift wasn't due to start for another ten minutes and she wanted to catch up on the latest info.

"So, what's been going on?" she continued.

"Oh, the usual," said Kelly with a mischievous smile. "Nothing exciting. Oh, but there is something I want to show you!"

Three days before the race and I was incredibly nervous as I stood with the other unhired racers in a row, hoping to be hired. My black rubber gas suit bore my pressure stat “425” in large proud white letters across my swollen belly as I stood with my hands behind my back. Problem was, so were my other eight competitors, six women and two men. Women had more natural adaptability for this than men did; among men, I was a minor celebrity. The crowds were still milling around as a young debutante—tight sweater, tight jeans--strolled up to me, all hips and lips and boobs.

"Manda, look at those women there!"  Lynn hissed at me.

I looked over my fashion magazine at the two women walking into the coffee shop.  They were about the same   age, late twenties, older than us.  They were both attractive and both dressed well in designer clothes, one in tight jeans and a loose top, the other in a casual jacket and skirt set in a lovely salmon colour silk blend.

I admit it, I am vain. But I think I'm entitled to it. I was one of those gawky girls that got her height way before anything else, which made me popular for basketball and volleyball and pretty much nothing else. Brown hair, greenish-brown eyes behind glasses, braces and a complexion that was a constant battleground. The only dates I got were the ones in my trail mix.