“Get dressed. I have enrolled you in a modeling class.”
Zlurketh choked on her sausage and aspirated some rice.
“Gggbzrtzk?!” she said.
Since graduating from hellowship Zlurketh has involved herself in so many things: the Rotary Club, yoga class, book clubs, trips abroad, local choirs, various avenues for meeting potential mates, and practicing medicine on the side. It was to Zlurketh’s father’s credit that he has thought of Zlurketh’s potential as… a fashion model!
“But… but…” Zlurketh started to protest. In her head:
Why the heck would I go to a modeling class?! Why the fuck would I need to get up early every Sunday just to meet people who would teach me how to do make-up and how to dress up?! Why the fucking hell would dad think I need a bleeping modeling class? Why won’t he just give me the tuition fee worth, what, three thousand pesos, so I could buy clothes in SM? Why the fuck should I….
“I’ve already enrolled you for FIFTY THOUSAND PESOS! Get dressed and get in the car!” Zlurketh’s dad declared. “AHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHA!”
In the modeling class were girls in their teens and twenty’s, most of them earnestly trying to become professional models. Zlurketh was introduced to Faciphaga Emasculata, some 40’s dude who would direct the entire program. On the first day Zlurketh was ordered to walk and toss her hair and strut and stuff.
And just when Zlurketh assumed this was all for fun,
“For your final exam after months of intensive modeling classes,” Faciphaga Emasculata announced, “you are going to take the runway in… Trinoma!”
Since then Zlurketh has been going to intensive modeling training every Sunday. Her face would be assaulted with cakes and cakes of make-up, she would wear eight-inch stilettos, and pose in strange contortions for peekchurifications. A few days ago, while waiting for her date in Trinoma Zlurketh frantically gave me a call:
“Faciphaga Emasculata posted one of my modeling pictures in Facebook!!! Rose Z said I should erase it!!! Here’s my password, erase it erase it erase eeeeeeeet! Wait how do I look in that pic?”
I frantically erased the pic, after saving it in my hard drive. In the pic Zlurketh was lying in bed with her hair spread out, her right leg folded under her left leg. She looked a bit stoned with her eyes glassy and stuff, but she was still well made-up. Sort of like a model who was shooting up cocaine, got dizzy, and plummeted down from her penthouse.
“Er, para kang nahulog from the ninth floor at nagka locked-in syndrome,” I told Zlurketh. “Pero yung ibang pics maganda.”
But so far Zlurketh has been immensely enjoying the modeling class. Her confidence has shot up to astronomic levels, her posture has never been better, and she has lost 8 pounds in just two weeks with no evidence of malignancy. She has also become some sort of confidante among the aspiring models. While buying mineral water in Mini-Stop, co-modelling student Rozabelle asked Zlurketh what could be causing her palpitations. Zlurketh, having just lectured weeks ago on palpitations in a private medical school, confidently said that the most common cause of palpitations among women in their twenty’s is psychogenic.
“Bakit, hija, may problema ka bang iniisip ngayon?”
In the middle of Mini-Stop Rozabelle hugged Zlurketh and wept.
“NAG-BREAK KAMI NG BOYFRIEND KO! HUHUHUHU!”
In her head of heads Zlurketh rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it,” she thought.
“There, there,” she said while patting Rozabelle’s head. “There, there.”