The Ironist.

         “Catalina, don’t slouch! You can’t possibly imagine how horrid it looks when you do so. Sit up straight! Straighter, girl! You are a lost cause.”

         So I was but truly, aren’t we all? Slouching is comfortable. Even flowers slouch at times…though no one wants those flowers. Ms. Greenwall swore up and down that good posture led to great marriages. Vivian married a man in love with her posture…they’re miserable.

         “Sorry, Ms. Greenwall,” she snorts at this, for even as I speak, I feel my bones melting, the slouch returning.

         “Have I been remiss in my instruction, Catalina? You are to task today, with all intents and purposes trained on your captivating one to the altar. How will you do so with such horrid posture?”

         Marriage. A curse on society. A blight on us all. Or not. I have designs of my own in this area. I smooth the cream gown and open up my fan, not for the demure appearance of my peers but for the pure audacity of the heat that lingers in the parlor. I see the man in question, Five-Star General Bill Constance, making his way across the room. I fan myself rapidly.

         “Cease that mad fanning, Child! The general approaches. Take on some feminine decorum, if you dare at all!” Ms. Greenwall is hissing this at me because he is too near for her to do otherwise. I, in turn, ignore her.

         “Good day to you, Ms. Greenwall,” General Constance has only eyes for her. What matters most is the execution of the plan.

         “And to you, General,”

         “Horrid weather, is it not?” I ask, interjecting boldly, refusing to acknowledge Ms. Greenwall’s glare.

         “It is indeed, Miss Dubois,” General Constance says politely. “You are looking rather fine this evening.”

         “Fine indeed! Why, I have not had a cold in a matter of months! Delightful, is it not?” General Constance’s eyes widen and I flap my fan wildly. “I dare say that I am the healthiest in this room…except for Ms. Greenwall, of course.”

         Effectively, General Constance turns his gaze to her, who has transformed her scowl of displeasure to a smoothed face of refinement.

         “Listen to that lively music! Dancing is such a treat!” I exclaim, my fan moving so quickly that the tendrils about my face dance more merrily than I. General Constance moves to seek my hand but I interject. “It is positively too hot in here for myself to partake in the dancing. A shame and a pity, for trodding on toes is my favorite pastime!” General Constance’s gaze moves over to Ms. Greenwall. “Why, Ms. Greenwall!” I exclaim. “Will you do the honors for me? I can’t possibly draw myself away as dancing prohibits the use of my fan, which is currently my only respite.”

         Before she can object, General Constance extends his hand with a bow and, all decorum and refinement, she cannot object and so they dance as I watch. I daresay I will be in the wedding.

500 Words