“Darling,” Eleanor said, “today we conquer the girdle. And no complaints. I will not hear them.”
Millicent groaned. “I really don’t know why this is necessary—”
“Oh, hush,” Eleanor snapped, smiling anyway. “Your silhouette is… chaotic without proper guidance. Step in here, my dear, and let the professionals show you the ropes.”
The boutique assistant, a spry woman named Colette, handed Millicent the girdle. “First time, huh?”
Millicent swallowed. “Yes. And possibly… my last.”
Eleanor’s lips twitched. “We’ll see about that.”
Millicent struggled with the hooks, squeaking as he tried to fasten the last one. Eleanor leaned in, her eyes twinkling. “Need a hand? Or shall I call the fire department?”
“Very funny,” Millicent muttered.
Once secured, Millicent attempted to walk. The girdle pinched in awkward spots, and he teetered slightly. “I feel like a mummy,” he complained.
Colette laughed. “No, no! You’re a work of art! Graceful lines, elegant posture. Just… take smaller steps.”
Eleanor patted his hip. “Mummy? You look magnificent. Now straighten that back. Pretend the world is your runway and you owe it a dazzling performance.”
Millicent stumbled slightly, and Eleanor stifled a laugh. “Oh, do stop wobbling, Millicent. You’re embarrassing the boutique… and me. Mostly me.”
By the time they were done, Millicent had learned to breathe through the hooks, walk without flailing, and smile awkwardly at his reflection. He was exhausted but… undeniably presentable.
Eleanor took his hand. “See? Not so terrifying. You survived your first girdle fitting. And you looked adorable doing it.”
Millicent muttered, “Adorable… yes, terrifying… also yes.”
Eleanor laughed. “You’ll get used to it. And one day, you’ll thank me for all this refinement.”
Millicent glanced down at the snug, perfectly shaped girdle and sighed. “I suppose… maybe I already am.”
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| Wearing Boston Proper |
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| Daniel Craig |
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