Thursday, April 28, 2005

Confession 37 The Language of Lunch

Wordcount: 14,517

My agent bought me a very nice lunch to celebrate the signing of my first book deal. It was about 6 months after the signing as it'd taken so many months before I had the contract, but we got there in the end. We went to a good restaurant around the corner from her office and had a glass of champagne. She talked enthusiastically of my rosy future. I didn't look great, after a year of endless revisions and constant work work work, my skin was bad, I was overweight and my hair hadn't had a good cut in a long while. I also had a shoe problem. Did I walk there in my (best) heels or go in (shabby) flats and change round the corner? I decided to change round the corner rather than stagger in sideways with sore feet, and stuffed my flats inside a supermarket bag inside my shoulder bag (also inelegant). When we sat down she suggested she took my bag and put it on the seat beside her. Her face as her arm sank at the extreme weight of the thing isn't something I'll forget. She must have been thinking she'd landed a complete weirdo.

Bye bye, thanks for visiting, come again soon.


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