Image   Blacktress never missed good sample or warehouse sale shopping.  It was a sport.  A hundred women darting around a maze of affordable designer shoes and clothes piled to the rafters.  May the best woman find the best buys, in the right size, and get them safely home.  It was beautiful.

Blacktress was already scoring major points.  She had found a few darling, little, vintage inspired sundresses and sky high, come hither pumps. (All of which would only set her back about 70 bucks) The knock-kneed girl had seen Blacktress fish the pumps out of the size ten pile, and was subtly chasing her around, hoping she’d fumble and put them down.  And Blacktress did put them and her guard down, (but just for a second), as she rummaged through her purse to find her buzzing cell phone.  And for a panic ridden moment the shoes seemed to disappear into the madness of the sprawling warehouse.

Blacktress was disappointed in herself for losing focus, and was beginning to grieve the lost victory when she spotted Knock-knees, with the chunky heels in hand, approaching the check out.  Blacktress flew over in a rage. Knock-knees tried to make an argument for keeping them, and in a Hail Mary attempt to keep defeat at bay, Blacktress unleashed her secret weapon:  Her mouth. She lit into to her.

“ Oh, hell no.  You are not slick.  I know you don’t think you’re just about to ease away with my shoes.”, Blacktress said, her adrenaline pumping, her eyes fixed into daggers.

The warehouse sale employees perked up.  They knew they might have to step in and referee.  They had seen this kind of thing before.  Settling disputes over new clothes was old hat.

But that wouldn’t be necessary. Blacktress saw immediately that Knock Knees didn’t have the heart for the game.

“Oh my bad.” Knock Knees said, shamefully handing them over.

She had forfeited.  On the inside, Blacktress did a touchdown dance.

Two weeks later, Blacktress was just breaking in her new babies, wearing them to an audition for the show, E.M.T: Brooklyn. She was going out for the role of Vivica, a high class call girl.  Vivica was dead in three out of the four scenes she was in, but she did have one heated exchange with an out of control John, just before he slit her throat.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?  Brooklyn girls don’t play.  Wait. No, wait, Please!  Ahhhhhh!”

Blacktress had practiced her lines in the shower, hitting all her beats.  She was a sudsy Meryl Streep.

She floated into the casting office, confidence first, as if she already had the role.  She smiled graciously at the row of 15 beautifully made up girls, all dolled up to high-class ,call girl perfection. They’ve already lost, poor things, she thought.  I got this. When her name was called, she sauntered in the room, balancing her statuesque frame on her lucky charms. The casting director took her picture/resume.   Blacktress went into preparation mode.  Just before she was about to begin, she looked up and spotted a familiar face.  It was the Knock-Kneed girl, who from now on will be referred to as,  The Casting Assistant /Camera Operator girl who was taping Blacktress’ audition.

What if she doesn’t press record, Blacktress thought in a panic.

“Nice shoes”,  said The Casting Assistant/Camera Operator girl who was taping Blacktress’ audition,.

Nice jab, Blacktress thought.

Slightly frazzled and feeling like anything but a winner, she began…

Blacktress Tip of the Week:  Never miss your morning meditation.  Chances are if you lose your zen (your shit) on someone in this town, you’ll regret it.

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