Wanamaming! Flash Fiction
“OMG Maureen, what are you wearing? This is so… new.”
“You like it?”
“Er… Yes, I do. It suits you very well.” What was I supposed to tell her? No, you look like an old gran who’s stolen her granddaughter’s skinny jeans and mini-top. Seriously, Maureen had no idea how gross her image was. But she was my friend, and friends support each other, right? I told myself this was just a phase; it will pass.
“Great, well, I was just on my way to that new outlet; it’s called the Grungy Grooves. They got loads of stuff. The place’s just wanamaming. Actually,” Maureen said, without catching her breath and took a pink and fluffy notebook out of her massive tote bag on which was a large picture of Greta Thunberg. “I’ve made myself a vision board. Look,” she said, pointing at the photos. “I think this would fit you TO- TAL- LY. You wear this, and you’re a wanamaming top dude.”
Incredulously, I stared. It was a very colourful and a short, very short indeed. But I was a coward, so I said, “Oh, lovely.”
“Right, come with me, we are so changing your look. You’ll love it,” and then she grabbed my hand. “After that, we’ll shoot some pics to for my new Insta account, and maybe a quick video for Tic Toc.”
Trapped and petrified, I followed her, hoping we weren’t to meet some of the knitting club friends on the way back from this wanamaming session.