A Vision of Perfection

Emily Chase was a vision of perfection. Every morning, Monday through Sunday she would wake up at six am, put on her blue silk robe and matching slippers and pad quietly downstairs to start the coffee and arrange the morning breakfast of cereal, milk and orange juice.  After this, Emily would head upstairs, wake her children and send them downstairs to eat. Meanwhile, she would take her morning shower (she washed her hair every Monday, Wednesday and Friday,) clean her teeth and get dressed for work. Her daily outfit was laid out the night before, freshly ironed and hanging on the wardrobe door. A white blouse, light blue jacket, matching skirt, black tights and black high heels- the colour and style would differ each day. Perfect. She would then put her essentials in her bag- purse, mobile, diary, pager, make-up kit just in case- and check and double check the contents of her briefcase before heading down to the kitchen for a quick bite to eat. Yes, Emily Chase’s mornings were always the same. Always perfect.
Emily walked into the kitchen and glanced around the room for a moment, panic ensuing. It was already seven am. Her children had to be dressed by seven thirty so they would be at the nursery on time. Her eyes took in the kitchen. Dishes in the sink, a spill of cornflakes on the kitchen table; level one- easily cleaned.
         ‘Logan, go upstairs and clean yourself and your room up alright. Mummy will be there shortly.’ 
Logan nodded, racing out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Emily sighed. ‘Gary, take Roxanne upstairs would you?’ she asked, picking up a dish cloth from the side of the sink. I’ll do the kitchen.’
Gary, who was a foot away from the dishes, shrugged and left the kitchen, Roxanne in his arms. Emily smiled and proceeded to clean the kitchen in a successful ten minutes. Dishes in the dishwasher, dishwasher on. Cornflakes in cupboard, glasses rinsed, dried and placed in cabinet. Wait, that glass isn’t straight… fixed. Kitchen table sanitized and wiped, cloth rinsed and folded neatly by the side of the sink, check. Emily stood back and viewed her kitchen. Perfect.

Seven fifteen. Emily dressed the children and took five minutes to make the beds, draw the curtains and wipe the children’s bathroom sink. She glanced at herself in the small mirror, brushed back a piece of her loose hair- almost- and walked slowly down the stairs to see her husband off.  Seven thirty. Time to leave.
Emily walked through the doors of Young and Harrison, the advertising agency and twenty past eight, bag on shoulder, briefcase in hand. Handing out her usual greetings, she headed up the stairs to her office. She looked around. There was a new pile of papers on her desk, spilling over two of her usual files.
Level two- three if reorganization is in order.
It wasn’t. Emily swept up the papers on her desk, straightened them out and quickly shuffled through them, placing a coloured post-it note on each section. She placed them in a spare file in her bottom drawer. She glanced once more at her desk, before straightening everything else- pen holder, work files, clock- eight thirty- and her pot plant.
Wait… Emily peered closer at the plant, and spotted a browning leaf. She plucked it off, and let it drift gently into the bin by her desk. She stepped back and looked at the plant. Something was wrong… it wasn’t…
         Picking up the plant, Emily set it in one corner of her window, the side with the plucked leaf facing the wall. There. Perfect. And just enough time to sort out her day and grab a cup of coffee before the meeting. She walked out of the room, jostling a picture on the wall which needed no attention and walked onto the bustling office floor. Wiping up a level one spill next to the coffee maker, Emily added one sugar and a dash of milk to her cup- which had been cleaned with her spare bottle of Evian in her office before use- and headed back to her office. She went through her files once more, and went into her bag to turn off her mobile phone- purse, mobile, diary, pager, make-up kit just in case- and checked and double checked her files once more. Eight fifty. Just enough time to get to the meeting room and set up.

Emily picked up her briefcase, and walked out of her office door, skimming her secretary’s desk as she did so. She heard the unmistakable sound of thin material stretching and ripping. She froze, and looked down at her legs. Her black tights had a large ladder running from her knee to just above her ankle, her pale skin contrasting the black and showing clearly. A loud, shrill alarm went off in her head. Emily couldn’t think. An uncomfortable itching feeling enveloped her body, and she backed quickly into her office, slamming the door behind her. She could barely breathe, and the room felt hot and muggy. She stopped in front of her full length mirror and gazed at her reflection. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t perfect. Her briefcase dropped forgotten on to the floor, and, stepping quickly out of her heels and reaching under her skirt, Emily pulled off the offending tights and attempted to throw them away from her. They didn’t go far, and hung off her desk, swinging slightly.
Calm rushed over Emily as she slipped back into her high heels. She looked warily at the tights, knowing full well she couldn’t leave them there. Glancing at the time- eight fifty four- Emily grabbed the tights, folded them neatly, and placed them in a dark corner of her bag- purse, mobile, diary, pager, make-up kit just in case- and put the bag neatly on her shoulder. She picked up her briefcase, and stood back in front of the full length mirror. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear- almost- dabbed her lips to even the lipstick, brushed down her suit and smiled. She walked towards her office door, jostling a picture which needed to attention, patted her bag and smiled smugly at the little secret within. Emily Chase held her head high, readjusted her smile and walked out of her office, a vision of perfection once more.