It happened last week. We were standing in the foyer of the local theatre chatting away when our group’s self-appointed leader made her excuses and went to “powder her nose”. Five minutes of peace later she rejoined us, and started her usual bossy tirade of instructions. “Mary, you’re in row ten with Alice and Pat. I’m sitting with Paul and Robert in row eleven. Come on, let’s get in there before everyone else goes in. Drink your drinks.” We gulped our pre-theatre drinks rapidly and obediently followed her. No point in saying that we weren’t ready to go in yet and that there was still five minutes to go before the performance. Brenda had spoken and we had to obediently comply, of course. It was easier that way.
Just what made her think she should sit with the two men, I can’t imagine, as neither of them could stand her, but she had made her decision, and who were we to disagree? That was always the way with her. She had to be boss. She had to be the centre of attention, everywhere we went. When we went out to dinner together, she always took her place in the middle of the table so she could take part in any conversation that might be going on. If she missed a bit of one conversation because she was holding forth loudly on another, she would stop in mid sentence, and say “Eh? What was that?” and we’d have to repeat whatever we had said all over again for her benefit. Then there would be her opinion, which would be expressed loudly for the next ten minutes. Brenda the Bully Boss, we called her.
But as she turned to stomp towards the door to the auditorium, with us in obedient hot pursuit, I caught sight of her back view. I smothered a giggle, and looked at Alice and Pat to see if they had noticed too. Brenda’s skirt was tucked up in the back of her knickers. I wanted to tell her, or did I?
Flash fiction (200-400 words) submitted as an asignment for Helium.com