WitchyAngel's words - Manolos, asparagus, halwa
Her 8th birthday had been marked with a visit to the temple, her mother's carrot halwa and a strand of kanakambaram. Two decades later she found herself being ushered by an imperious maitre d' to their table. She reveled in the sidelong glances of jealousy and desire. The deceptively simple cut of her dress. The discrete solitaires. The dazzling beaded clutch. But she knew it was the shoes that lifted her to another level altogether.
That morning, as she lay in bed she had quivered in anticipation as he handed her the box. The wrapping paper was torn apart fiendishly until she reached the simple white box and the two words printed on the lid. She had almost passed out with excitement when she'd touched the black Manolos. She now had everything.
Her cream of asparagus soup arrived. As she sat staring at the bowl of steaming mush she couldn't help but wish for some halwa.