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It was the most beautiful t-shirt. White, light and sleek. Perfect cut. Ashley twirled in front of the mirror, loving herself from every angle. It was so cool. She grinned at the assistant.
‘Go on then, where is it ?’
The girl tried to look interested but it was 4.00 pm on a Saturday.
‘Where is what?’ she asked.
‘The label.’ Ashley spoke in her isn’t-it-obvious voice.
The assistant shrugged. She came close to Ashley and ran her fingers along the hems and seams of the t-shirt.
‘There isn’t one.’ She concluded.
It was Ashley’s turn to be puzzled. This was a designer outlet, not just a shop. Of course there was a label. Unless……..
‘Not having a label – wow!’
This could be the start of something. She could be a trend-setter, first with the newest thing. The ultimate in cool. Wasn’t there some cigarette adverts ages ago that never said the name of the cigarette ? She looked in the mirror again. It looked just as good but something was bugging her.
Just how would her friends know without a label? What if they thought it was only High Street? Ashley blanched in fear.
No sale.
The End
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Vivien Jones lives on the North Solway shore in Scotland where she writes poetry, short fiction and drama pieces for performance, often in collaboration with the early music group she plays with www.thegallowayconsort.co.uk She has been widely published in each of these genres in the UK and is a regular reader at literary events.
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