Hell’s Belle

by Ann O’Nonymous

 

Alan woke up in a strange room. He had a head the size of Texas. The last thing he remembered was the sight of some extremely bright lights bearing down on him from the left.

He looked around the room. It wasn’t a hospital room, and not a room in his apartment. The walls were a bright shade of a purplish-blue, and the ceiling was a grayish green.

"What’s going on here," he remarked to no one in particular. Except for his head, he seemed to be complete. He checked his limbs – all seemed to be present and accounted for. The bed where he sat was another ugly piece of furniture – not his beautiful brass canopied one. The rest of the room seemed to have been done in early Homer Simpson.

He thought back to what seemed to be a short time ago. He had been visiting a friend, another TV, had a drink of wine, a lot of talk, and they watched a chick flick together. He had said his good-byes, left the house and started to drive the short distance back to his apartment. At an intersection, he remembered seeing the lights, hearing the dreadful crashing sounds as the semi plowed into the side of his auto with a sickening crunch.

"Oh my God, I’m . . . I’m dead!" The realization his life had come to an end was a complete shock. So many things left undone, so much to do. It was over now.

He took a look around at the room. Only one word could describe it – ugly, with a capital ug.

Pulling up the sheet that covered him, it was apparent that he was naked, except for his once 36C breast forms – they were now able to fit a 50DDD. The rest of the body appeared to be normal.

"Well, let’s get up and see what’s going on?"

Alan pulled himself out of bed, deciding that the first thing would be to get a shower. After that, dressing would follow.

So he followed his usual morning routine of shaving everything that showed. He marveled at the bathroom that seemed to be stocked with everything he could use, from perfume to shampoo to shaving gel.

Next came dressing. He returned to the bedroom to search for apparel. Upon opening the first drawer, he found it was full of bras – all in the worst colors imaginable. A drawer full of panties was the same, as was a drawer of pantyhose.

Next he went to a closet and opened it. Staring out at him were dresses that had to be designed by someone who was extremely angry at females. The colors were indescribably hideous.

Other closets and drawers yielded the same results.

Alan next spied the vanity, and checked it out. The makeup was garish; the lipsticks were the extreme red colors. It seemed to be designed not to make him attractive, but to make a clown out of the woman. The perfumes were not subtle, more like enough to knock a man over at twenty paces. There was eye shadow suitable for a raccoon, and mascara that would run at the sign of heavy dew.

Next, he found the shoes: High-button ones; sandals in khaki and purple with lemon-yellow spots; and blue and green pumps – one heel 3", the other 1-1/2". There were others, but these just seemed to stand out.

Another closet had chenille nightgowns, robes in some equally absurd material.

Alan sat down, staring at this grotesque mockery of a ladies’ room.

The first words that came to mind were: "Oh Hell!"

In response to this seemingly innocent question, he heard deep rumbling laughter, followed by, "girl, you got that right."

 

Finis – That’s all folks, Annie O

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Ann O'Nonymous. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.