‘Fashion victim?!’ She screamed at the monitor. She’d read the article five times now. Her face growing a deeper shade of puce with every word. ‘How dare they call me a fashion victim?’
The monitor remained silent, only serving to infuriate her further.
She considered her options. The Facebook page identified both the magazine and the author as having local addresses. It wouldn’t be too much trouble to pay them a visit and demand their apologies in a public forum. However, the memory of the police cell and the horrible ‘occupant’ she was forced to share it with the last time was still fresh in her head. Why hadn’t THEY listened to her complaints and moved her to a private cell-suite like she’d asked?
She shook her head, gave a small shudder.
No, that wasn’t happening again.
A letter? Too slow. She’d be an old hag before she received a reply. I mean, really! How did people ever cope with snail mail?
Her eyes brightened a little when she spotted it there at the bottom of the page: an email address. It was beckoning her with its siren’s song. Not only could she get her apology but, when she did, she could send it to the press and demand it printing in the evening edition. There for everyone to see.
Fashion victim? She thought, I’ll show them who’s the fashion victim?
She could hardly contain herself waiting for the email to load. It was taking its time. She considered if the latest pink laptop would load faster; it would certainly go better with her laptop case. Silver was so last season and this one was just…bleugh!
The email opened.
Her fingers were a blur across the keyboard.
Dear Pretentious Editor,
I am appalled at your Facebook article entitled “Fashion Victim: a red carpet saga”. You feature me prominently in not one, but two accompanying photographs. The article calls me the “Fashion Victim’s Fashion Victim”. I’ll have you know that my evening dress was personally stitched by Designer of the Year, Herr Mann. My jewellery was loaned to me by none other than the Crown Prince of Monaco.
Your tabloid-style rag is distasteful and I find the article’s author conceited. How dare she deem herself qualified to report on that level of sophistication? I, and Herr Mann, demand that any reference to me as a “fashion victim” be removed from your page and a full apology be issued in writing.
Cynthia Le Croix
It was an age before the response was received, announcing itself with a quiet bing!
It read, simply:
Dear Miss Le Croix,
I find it funny that you call me conceited, after all, the subject of the photographs was the author of the article. Other than loitering in the background, you do not appear in any of them….