This Means War

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There are two ways you can go when attending a party that you know your ex will also be attending. The first is the look I like to think of as the 'beautiful butterfly'. As in 'look at me you bastard, the heartbreak you inflicted was the chrysalis in which I transformed into the magnificent creature you now see before you'. In other words watch a shit ton of YouTube make-up tutorials and buy the clothing equivalent of an apartment in Monaco, not a lot of square meterage for a whole lot of money, literally show him what he's missing. The second option is the look I refer to as the 'very hungry caterpillar'. As in 'if I don't look at you you'll never see me and the tragic state you've left me in'. The key to this option? Surprisingly it's not the wearing of a full coverage burkha, no the secret is to wear the most non-descript, generic garments in your possession. An apron if the party has caterers. That way you can hide in the background, maybe the kitchen, so you can eat your feelings. Any guesses as to which option I went for?

If you guessed option two I hate to break it to you but you were wrong. That was how I dealt with my break-up with Eli, I wasn't even going to attempt to compete with Ashlee the fitness model foetus.

No, for my post Brian Christmas party reveal I went with option one. Let's face it the guy had always made it clear that he found me attractive, so clearly the objective was to make him suffer. Hell yeah, I embraced option number one like Paris Hilton in her 'Simple Life' prime.

If Paris Hilton was classy...

Obviously.

Cathy had spent hours torturing my hair with a variety of hot styling implements and if my face wasn't contoured like a topographic map it was thanks to Harper. She'd decided to express her inner Jackson Pollock with the contouring kit while Cathy was preoccupied with studying the YouTube tutorial. The artistic merit of Harper's efforts on Cathy's pristine marble bathroom tiles was less 'Blue Poles' and more 'Brown Sludge'. Jeff had taken a step back in horrified anguish when he'd seen it claiming that it gave him flashbacks to Harper's babyhood. I, of course, was so pleased that Harper had saved me from a fate worse than Tony the Tiger that I offered to clean the bathroom quicker than you can say 'Instagram Model'. Cathy shut me down and ordered Jeff to deal with it. She was one hundred percent committed to 'Operation Make Brian Beg for Forgiveness' as she'd named it. I just wanted to make him realise what he'd thrown away and cry himself to sleep every night as he contemplated the myriad possibilities of what might have been.

But whatever...I'd go with Cathy's name for the plan if it gained me access to her help and extensive wardrobe.

So there I was looking like a refugee from 'Classy Sluts-R-Us' at Matt and Val's Christmas barbeque. Cathy had squeezed me into a pair of jeans so tight that I was certain my legs would be blue by the end of the evening, if not from lack of circulation then from imprinted denim. The baby pink wrap sweater made of kittens that I wore was so soft it made me want to stroke my own boobs as it simultaneously skimmed and revealed them. Okay, it wasn't made from kittens, it was way too soft for that. It did enhance my boobs spectacularly though. Or maybe that was the sheer lace bra that occasionally peeked out the neckline of my sweater. According to Cathy I looked hot, yet appropriate for a family friendly barbeque and it was a guaranteed result that Brian would be frothing at the mouth.

Cathy must have clued Val in to the plan because she was wide-eyed and enthusiastic about my change from semi-presentable slacker to kitten clad sex-goddess. At least she wasn't shining lights in my eyes trying to reveal the presence of a body snatcher.

"You look amazing!" Val enthused running a hand down my arm, seriously the sweater was that soft it was impossible not to.

"Doesn't she just?" Cathy squealed. She and Val grinned at each other and that was enough to give me the uneasy feeling that 'Operation Make Brian Beg for Forgiveness' was not the only plan afoot.

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