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Ireland's Story

Hearing the phone ring from the shower, Ireland called to her sister, "Answer the phone for me, please."

Lazily horizontal on the couch reading a book, Milly ignores the request letting the caller go to voice mail
instead. She didn't travel across the country for her younger sister's birthday celebration to be a receptionist.

"Who was it?" Ireland inquired rubbing a towel through her hair.

"I didn't bother to answer. That's why voice mail was invented."

Wrapping the towel around her head she pulled the phone from the cradle. "They didn't leave one and the
number was blocked."

Milly rolled on her side, plopped the book on the table and studied her sister. "If it's important they'll
call back."

"What if they don't?!"

"Oh Ireland," Milly sighed, sitting up, stretching her stubby legs across the coffee table. "Then I guess it wasn't
important."

She tucked the phone in the house coat pocket and quickly retreated to the bathroom not wanting a
confrontation with her sister. She hated confrontations. Her entire life seemed to be one after another.
It was easier to do what she was told than what she wanted.

"Mom said we have to be at the restaurant at 5:30 sharp so hurry up in the bathroom. It takes me an
hour to get ready."

Ireland grabbed her things and shuffled off to the bedroom. Sitting at the foot of the bed with an armful of
stuff she stared at herself in the mirror, muttering, "It's my birthday, why can't I do what I want to do."

Hanging on the door sash Milly leaned into the room, "Did you say something?"

Ireland busied herself placing makeup and hair electronics neatly on the vanity.

Glancing towards a dress perched on a hanger attached to the closet door, Milly questioned, "Are you wearing
that to dinner?" Ireland nodded timidly. "All wrong colours for you."

"But I like it," she replied softly, fidgeting with the liquid foundation.

Milly marched over to the closet and rifled through her clothes. "We must shop while I'm here." Pulling out a
blue suit jacket, white blouse and blue and grey striped skirt she tossed it on the bed. "This is more appropriate
for your birthday dinner with the family."

Hearing the shower blast full, the whisk of the curtain yanked closed, Ireland slumped on the bed. She fingered
the bland blue suit while staring at the hip paisley dress blasting with bold colours. Thumping a muffled fist on the
duvet she wanted to shout defiantly, "I am wearing the dress I bought for my birthday." Mustering up courage,
she yanked the dress off the hanger and pulled it on. "There," she said to herself in the mirror, turning right
and left, viewing the fit from different angles. "It's a birthday gift to myself and I'm wearing it."

Ireland maintained her courage while blow drying her hair. Snapping the flat iron through her shoulder length
mane she heard the shower finish. "I will not take it off" she nervously said, her courage melting. The slap of a
towel being whipped from the rack had her freeze. The second slap had her tug off the dress to be replaced by
the suit.

When her towel clad sister exited the bathroom Ireland was facing the mirror tucking in the white blouse.

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