Mary Ann Loo
She was gorgeous when we first met, and I wanted so much to be like her. Her tanned flawless skin, the shape of her slender arms, the arch in her lower back, her effortless glide across the uneven street in 4-inch Jimmy Choos. She had said, “Don’t ever feel pressured by me. I have to look like this because of my career.” She’s an actress, a natural diva, the woman who’d turn heads of every man she’d sashay by and pretend not to notice. I knew she reveled in the attention, and hanging off my friend Damian’s arm, she’d silently announce she was a sweet ripe piece of fruit dangling almost within reach, but oh so unattainable.
We were barely creeping past 21, Joanne and I – six, seven years younger than Shannon, the newest and best looking addition to our little clique. She soon became the elder sister we never had, the one with all the advice backed with life experience, the one with makeup skills and flawless fashionable flair, who’d look perfect even if some crumpled garbage bag were draped around her. “You girls are crazy,” she’d say, “but when you’re at work, please behave yourselves and be professional.” We had nodded, puppy-dog-eyed and hanging on to every syllable.
It’s now six years, 4 minor supporting roles, and 15 pounds later. Shannon disguises her frame with loose-fitting dark-colored outfits, and stumbles ever so slightly in her 30-dollar heels. She wears her black wavy locks in a ponytail, an unsuccessful attempt to erase a couple years from her face, and makeup no longer conceals the crescents and creases under her eyes. She rises in the evening, lunches at 9, dinner at 2, plays computer games, surfs Facebook, and goes to bed when the sun fully awakes. Sometimes, she updates her blog – Today, she types, my darling Damian bought me three blueberry tarts. And they’re mine, all MINE. Soooo fattening, but who cares? Life is good. I’m so happy!
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