Authonomy – Friday Flash Fiction [FFF]
Post: FFF – March 7, 2014
Theme / Genre: Make ’em Laugh!
Include: –
Words: 1,000
Mrs Doubtfire
‘I’m not wearing that,’ Gareth said.
‘You have to, they’ve asked for appropriate clothing,’ Shelley said.
‘That’s ridiculous I’ll look a right tw—‘
‘Do you want the part or not?’
‘Yes, but it’s only an audition for a small production company.’
‘A famous production company!’
‘Yes, but…’
‘No buts. They picked you because you did such a good job, as an ugly sister in the PTA production.’
‘Well, it’s hardly the same, this is serious business.’
Shelley put her hand on Gareth’s shoulder.
‘It’ll be fine, I’m so proud of you.’
‘You’re just trying to soften me up.’
‘I’m not,’ Shelley arranged the clothes on the bed. ‘I think you’ll look great.’
‘You think? Surely they could get an idea without me actually dressing up. They must have their own Mrs Doubtfire wardrobe.’
‘Maybe, but not for everyone, and what about people changing all over the place.’
‘Alright, alright.’
‘Mum was so happy to lend these, do you want me to help?’
‘No, I’ll sort it.’
‘Right, I’m going to put the kids to bed, don’t be too long, we need to be there by nine.’
‘Why so late?’
‘To give others who work the same opportunity, I guess.’
‘Well, I’d prefer a cozy restaurant with you to celebrate my birthday.’
‘Oh, will you stop, we’re doing that tomorrow. Hurry up,’ she left the bedroom.
Gareth stood in his underpants and stared at the clothes. He picked up the thick wooly tights, stretched them a bit, lifted his foot into the first leg, and pulled them up. Warm, he thought. He lifted his other foot and wobbled.
Shelley opened the door.
‘What was that bang?’ she said, then laughed seeing Gareth wriggling around on the floor, legs wrapped in the tights.
‘Lost my balance, not easy these things.’
With a big smile, Shelley left the room.
‘Come on, hurry up,’ she said.
‘Thanks for your sympathy,’ he shouted.
The bra was next, Gareth was surprised it was so big, he didn’t remember his mother-in-law being such a large women. He slipped his arms in; very spacious. Adjusting it in the mirror he reached behind to fasten the clasps.
It was no good, no matter how hard he tried to grab the flapping straps, he still couldn’t secure it. He pulled it off and remembered seeing Shelley fix it at the front and twist around. He slipped his arms in again and fastened the clasps.
‘What the hell!’ he said out aloud.
It wouldn’t twist round, somehow the arms stopped it.
‘Ah, the arms,’ he concluded.
Unclipped, took it off, wrapped it around, clasped it, twisted it, and put his arms though. Finally, he thought, good job he had no tits to get in the way.
The skirt, blouse and cardigan were straight forward. So to the wig, he looked good. Just a bit of lippy to finish off.
Gareth found some lipstick in Shelley’s draw; a nice red colour. He pursed his lips in front of the mirror and lightly applied. To soft, he reapplied with a bit more pressure. He creased his lips, the same way Shelley had a hundred times. He stepped back.
‘Jesus , I look no better than a drunk tranny with the shakes,’ Gareth realised he wasn’t a natural with make-up. ‘Shelley!’
Fifteen minutes later, Shelley departed with Mrs Doubtfire, having patiently played the make-up artist.
‘How do I look?’
‘Brilliant.’
‘Can you tell it’s me?’
‘With my make-up skills, no chance.’
‘Good, I really don’t want anyone to recognise me.’
‘Who? They’ll be no one about.’
‘Park up near to the Hall anyway.’
‘I will, stop worrying.’
They parked in the nearest car park.
‘I’d put those heels on now, you haven’t tried them yet, you need to get used to them.’
‘I suppose, okay’
Gareth slipped on the shoes. Not too high, he thought, only an inch and a half or so. Clumsily, he swivelled out of the car and stood.
‘Not very lady like,’ Shelley said, already waiting at the passenger door.
‘I’ll work on it.’
Gareth wobbled and took a couple of steps, Shelley watched, hiding a smirk. His bow-legged walk looked like he had something unpleasant in his pants. The clack of the heels resonated around the car-park. Shelley turned to lock the car as Gareth headed off. There was a clatter of heel clacks, that rapidly increased speed. Shelley turned in time to see Gareth lunge headlong between two cars, legs akimbo, bashed one car and bounced into the other. Both cars abruptly burst into a hailing and flashing of alarm. The noise deafened the car-park.
Stifling a massive fit of giggles, Shelley ran to help Gareth between the pulsating orange lights and thundering horns.
‘Come on,’ she said, holding him up.
Five minutes hard concentration, he mastered doddering like an old lady. They arrived unrecognised at the hall.
‘I don’t see many others,’ Gareth said.
‘Maybe they’re inside already.’
Relieved he’d not been spotted, Gareth marched in.
‘Another one for the audition,’ said a man at the desk. Then winked at Shelley. ‘Downstairs in the garden room, please.’
Gareth hobbled to the stairs, pain in his squashed toes. No sooner had he made the first step, his other foot caught a stair trimmer and he tumbled forward, he grasped for the handrail, but missed. Shelley ran to catch him, but was too late. Down he rolled, faster and faster, and finally bashed through the double doors at the bottom. What an entrance!
One shoe on, one shoe off, and a wig covering one eye, Shelley bit her lip.
Gareth stood, ruffled his hairpiece, holes gaped in the tights, with buttons of the blouse ripped off in the fall he showed far too much cleavage for an old lady.
‘Oh, dearie me,’ he said in character, thinking of Mrs Doubtfire.
A sudden burst of laughter erupted behind him. He spun around.
‘Surprise!’
‘Happy Birthday, Gareth,’ Shelley said, finally allowing herself a giggle.
