At my sons’ school the other day, I ran into this perfectly gorgeous woman. Gorgeous as in drop-dead gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that comes only with physical perfection.
With nothing else to do, I stole covert glances at her. And started noticing the details- the carefully applied make-up, the deliberately mismatched but frightfully expensive clothes, the way she kept smoothening her perfect hair. Was all that really necessary for a routine visit to school?
With a start, I realised, she’d never once smiled; didn’t seem to know how to. She is gorgeous, but I am glad to be me.
A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.