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For always making the impossible – possible.


The Makeover



SHARON’S HIGH PITCHED voice and constant chatter did nothing for Shelly’s hangover, neither did the stripy pink shirt she wore — which was giving Shelly double vision.

I just can’t believe it — two bloody years we were together then she decides she needs space — time out. I mean, for Pete’s sake, she’s not a teenager. We’re talking about a thirty year old woman,” Sharon said, her blue eyes pierced into Shelly’s before she looked away.

Shelly fought hard to concentrate as she put strokes of varnish on her friends nails. Nausea hit her in waves. Why on earth did I drink so much? she chided herself, as she recounted knocking back tequilas and beers non-stop at the bar the previous night, not giving a thought to how she would feel the next day.

The two women sat opposite each other on one of the many work stations scattered in no particular order in the beauty salon. After a busy day, the rest of the salon was now empty with the rest of the staff, except for Melissa and herself, finished for the day.

Well I told ‘er, I’ll give you a week to sort your ‘ead out, after that it’s over — finito,” she said, sliding her free hand across her throat in one quick motion. “I’m right, aren’t I Shell? I did say the right thing?” Sharon asked, a scowl frozen on her chubby features, her voice sounding a little uncertain now.

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