‘Of course, men always look at the mother first to see if they are ageing well, Lisa. Hopefully, you will age well, but that is one reason I always spend time making myself look as good as possible. Mind you, because I look so young, you and I could so easily be sisters. I look at myself in the mirror every morning, and I find it impossible to believe that I’m thirty-six. Unfortunately, you’ve inherited more of your father’s genes on the facial front. I think it’s fair to say you look more like him than me.’
‘How would I know Mother? I haven’t seen him for eleven years. But you can’t be serious? Why on earth would you want to look good for anybody interested in me? Is it some sort of sexual fantasy you have? I don’t have to dress up like a bloody tart to attract a man. I want somebody to love me for who I am and not what you look like! I’ve read The Female Eunuch, and I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. I also know what I want to do with my life, and I don’t have to dress up like a bloody Barbie doll to achieve it. For God’s sake, Mother, why do you always have to talk such bloody rubbish? I don’t have time to go clothes shopping and please, close the door on your way out.’
Elizabeth’s eyes were wide open. Her bottom jaw sagged, revealing her lower set of pearly white Harley Street enhanced teeth. She was the one who always had the last word, not this unsophisticated creature wearing an oversized t-shirt.
‘You need to buck your ideas up a bit, Lisa; you will never find yourself a husband if you always look like you’ve just fallen off the back of a hay cart.’
‘I don’t want a bloody husband; I’m only seventeen!’
‘I’ll be outside the front door in my car at 2.00 pm, and we will be going shopping together.’
Raising her chin, she looked down her nose at her defiant daughter, before sweeping out of the room, slamming the door behind her, as the poster of the smiling Peter Frampton poster slid to the floor.