“Aren’t you getting a bit old for frocks that short?” Susan had done my make-up for the first party I’d attended, and ever since had positioned herself to be the first to judge how I looked.
“Everything’s too short, Susie, when you have a thirty three inch inseam,”
“False eyelashes too, you tart!”
“False everything, apart from the nails,” my fingernails were the only obviously feminine thing that I carried into my everyday appearance, and much envied, “now let your old boss buy you a drink.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, I steered us towards the bar.