Page 3 of Sassy & Sixty
PARK BENCH CONFESSIONS
Rosie stood in front of her wardrobe, hands on hips, surveying the sea of beige, navy, and cream before her. Was this really all she owned? When had her closet become as exciting as a rice cake?
"Right," she muttered, pushing hangers aside with newfound determination. "There has to be something here that doesn't scream 'sensible grandmother'."
After what felt like an archaeological dig through layers of conservative cardigans and practical slacks, Rosie's hand brushed against something silky. She pulled it out, eyebrows rising at the sight of a leopard print blouse she'd forgotten she owned.
"Well, hello there," she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Where have you been hiding?"
Fifteen minutes later, Rosie appraised herself in the full-length mirror. The leopard print blouse, paired with black jeans she'd had to wiggle into (when did these get so tight?), and a pair of red ballet flats gave her an air of... what was the word? Sass? She nodded at her reflection. It would do.
As she headed out the door, Rosie caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror and faltered. Was this too much? Shouldshe change back into something more... age-appropriate? The familiar voice in her head - the one that sounded suspiciously like her ex-husband Derek - whispered that she was being ridiculous.
Rosie squared her shoulders, fixing her reflection with a steely gaze. "Oh, hush," she told the imaginary Derek. "I'm sixty, not dead."
With that, she marched out the door, trying to channel the confidence of her blouse if not quite feeling it herself.
Rosie walked to Mary's house. It was a shorter stroll than Rosie had thought it would be…she was so used to driving that she’d forgotten how lovely it felt to walk. Certainly, the newfound spring in her step made the distance fly by. As she approached the familiar door, it swung open before she could knock, revealing a marginally less frazzled-looking Mary.
"Mum!" Mary's eyes widened as she took in Rosie's outfit. "You look... different."
Rosie felt her cheeks warm. "Good different or bad different?"
A slow smile spread across Mary's face. "Good different. Definitely good. You look great, Mum."
Before Rosie could respond, a shaggy blonde bullet shot out from behind Mary's legs. Elvis, apparently recognising his new walking companion, launched himself at Rosie with all the enthusiasm of a long-lost friend.
"Down, boy!" Rosie laughed, trying to fend off Elvis's enthusiastic greeting. "Save some of that energy for the park, why don't you?"
Mary handed over the leash, shaking her head in amazement. "I still can't believe you're doing this, Mum. Are you sure you're up for it?"
Rosie took the leash, giving Mary a reassuring pat on the arm. "Absolutely. Elvis and I have an understanding now, don'twe, boy?" She looked down at the dog, who cocked his head and gave a small 'woof' in response.
"Well, good luck," Mary said, stifling a yawn. "I'm going to try and catch a quick nap while the twins are down."
As Rosie set off towards the park, she felt a curious mix of excitement and trepidation. Yesterday's walk had been a comedy of errors, but today... today she was prepared. Or so she thought.
Elvis trotted alongside her, mercifully calm compared to yesterday's escapades. As they entered the park, Rosie held her head high, pointedly ignoring the curious glances her leopard print blouse was attracting.
They made it halfway around the pond before Elvis decided it was time to liven things up. A flock of ducks caught his attention, and before Rosie could tighten her grip on the leash, he was off like a shot.
"Elvis, no!" Rosie yelped, stumbling after him. The ducks scattered in a flurry of indignant quacks, while Elvis barked joyfully, clearly thinking this was the best game ever.
Rosie's red ballet flats, it turned out, were not designed for impromptu duck chases. She felt her foot slide on the damp grass, and for the second time in as many days, she found herself heading for an unplanned meeting with the ground.
Just as she braced for impact, a strong hand gripped her arm, steadying her. "Whoa there! I've got you."
Rosie looked up into the amused face of a woman about her age, with dark blonde hair in a bob, with grey roots peeping through. She had laughter lines around her eyes and a big smile on her face. "That's some dog you've got there," the woman said, nodding towards Elvis, who was now prancing proudly among the retreating ducks.
"He's not mine, actually," Rosie said, straightening up and trying to salvage what was left of her dignity. "I'm dog-walking for my daughter. Or rather, dog-falling."
The woman laughed, a rich, throaty sound that immediately put Rosie at ease. "Well, you're in good company. Half the people here can’t manage their dogs. I'm Emma, by the way."
"Rosie," she replied, shaking Emma's offered hand. "And the four-legged menace over there is Elvis."
"Elvis, eh?" Emma grinned. "Let's see if we can't coax him back. I've got just the thing." She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a dog treat. With a sharp whistle, she called, "Here, Elvis! Come and get it, boy!"
To Rosie's amazement, Elvis's ears perked up, and he came bounding over, all thoughts of ducks forgotten. He sat obediently at Emma's feet, looking up with adoring eyes as she handed him the treat.
