Extensions, Short story

[Bassim]

Would you please correct my short story, which I wrote as an exercise.

Bob was looking at the portraits of dignified-looking men and women in heavy gilded frames covering the walls of Mia’s flat.
“Are they all your relatives?” he asked
“None of them. I bought them at second-hand shops to make an impression on my guests,” she answered.

Her honesty felt as if someone slapped him across his face, and he blushed. When they sat on her balcony overflowing with flowers, drinking coffee, Mia’s long blond hair was gleaming in the sun.

“You have the most beautiful hair,”
“Oh, it’s not all my own. They’re extensions. Neither am I blonde.” She parted her hair to show its dark roots. Her long lashes batted coquettishly and she said, “And my eyelashes are extensions too.”

Her teeth were perfect, and Bob wondered if they were implants but tried not to stare for fear she would be encouraged to reveal more secrets and turn his face crimson again. He wished he could keep his mouth shut, but silence usually made him nervous, and he said, “You’ve got such a nice bronze skin. Have you been abroad?”
“Oh, no, it’s a lotion. It’s much better than lie for hours under the scorching sun. And if you don’t like it, you can wash it off.”

They had dinner. Bob liked the food and praised it. “Do you like to cook?” he asked.
“I can’t cook at all. "Lidl" had the Greek week recently, and I used the opportunity to fill up my freezer with moussaka. We’ll have also some baklava to dessert.”
They sat in an awkward silence. Bob didn’t dare inquire anything more for fear of further revelations, and Mia was not inquisitive by nature. He had to catch his flight in the evening, and she offered to drive him to the airport. As she led him to an Aston Martin parked in the street, Bob shook his head. He had seen such exclusive cars only on TV, and now as he got inside, he breathed in the scents of leather and woman’s perfume as if he had entered another world. Mia was a bad driver, who either accelerated too fast or braked too late, nearly causing a few accidents.

“Is this your car?”
“No. It belongs to my friend Yvonne. She told me if you want to look really posh you have to drive an Aston Martin.”
She pulled up at the passenger entrance.

“Thank you, Mia,” he said as they stood shaking hands.
“Actually, my real name is Marigold, but I think it sounds awful. Mia is OK, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” he said, pleased that in an hour or two he would be in the air, flying away from her.
“I hope, I see you again,” she shouted behind him as he hurried through the glass doors into the building. “Sure,” he shouted back, cursing himself for his bad luck. A long time would pass until he went on a date again.
THE END

 

[teechar]

Would you please correct my short story, which I wrote as an exercise?



Bob was looking at the portraits of dignified-looking men and women in heavy gilded frames covering the walls of Mia’s flat.

“Are they all your relatives?” he asked.

[Strike]“None of them.[/Strike] No. I bought them at second-hand shops to [Strike]make an impression on[/Strike] impress my guests,” she answered.



Her honesty felt as if someone had slapped him across his face, and he blushed. When they sat on her balcony overflowing with flowers, they drank [Strike]drinking[/Strike] coffee, and Mia’s long blond hair was gleaming in the sun.



“You have the most beautiful hair,”
“Oh, it’s not all my own. They’re extensions. Neither am I blonde.” She parted her hair to show its dark roots. Her long lashes batted coquettishly and she said, “And my eyelashes are extensions too.”


Her teeth were perfect, and Bob wondered if they were implants but tried not to stare for fear she would be encouraged to reveal more secrets and turn his face crimson again. He wished he could keep his mouth shut, but silence usually made him nervous, and he said, “You’ve got such a nice bronze skin. Have you been abroad?”
“Oh, no, it’s just lotion. It’s much better than [Strike]lie[/Strike] lying for hours under the scorching sun. And if you don’t like it, you can wash it off.”


They had dinner. Bob liked the food and praised it. “Do you like to cook?” he asked.
“I can’t cook at all. "Lidl" had the Greek week recently, and I used the opportunity to fill up my freezer with moussaka. We’ll have [Strike]also[/Strike] some baklava [Strike]to[/Strike] for dessert.”
They sat in an awkward silence. Bob didn’t dare inquire any [Strike]thing[/Strike] more for fear of further revelations, and Mia was not inquisitive by nature. He had to catch his flight in the evening, and she offered to drive him to the airport. As she led him to an Aston Martin parked in the street, Bob shook his head in amazement/awe. He had seen such exclusive cars only on TV, and now as he got inside, he breathed in the scents of leather and women’s perfume as if he had entered another world. Mia was a bad driver, who either accelerated too fast or braked too late, nearly causing a few accidents.


“Is this your car?”
“No. It belongs to my friend Yvonne. She told me if you want to look really posh, you have to drive an Aston Martin.”
She pulled up at the departures. passenger entrance.


“Thank you, Mia,” he said as they stood shaking hands.
“Actually, my real name is Marigold, but I think it sounds awful. Mia is OK, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” he said, pleased that in an hour or two he would be in the air, flying away from her.
“I hope I see you again,” she shouted [Strike]behind[/Strike] after him as he hurried through the glass doors into the terminal building. “Sure,” he shouted back, cursing himself for his bad luck. A long time would pass until he went on a date again.

.