Trisha grabbed a bright red apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen counter, the crisp crunch echoing in the morning silence. “This should have to do as my breakfast,” she murmured, savoring the sweet tang as she hurriedly pulled on her coat. Passing the hallway mirror, she halted, her reflection beckoning her attention. With a soft smile, she whispered, “You’ve got this,” and threw herself an exaggerated kiss.

Fumbling through her purse, she juggled the apple between her teeth, determined to multitask. Finally, her fingers closed around her lipstick, and she deftly applied it with the precision of a seasoned pro. The bronze hue of the lipstick complemented her milk chocolate skin, accentuating her features with a subtle glow. A quick glance over her shoulder reassured her that everything was in place; there would be no embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions today. She shuddered, recalling the nightmare of walking out the door with her skirt tucked into her red panties.

Trisha, a petite woman with a plus-size hourglass figure, compensated for her stature with the confidence of a runway model. Her love affair with heels was evident in the colors that adorned her shoe rack—more than thirty pairs, each a testament to her unwavering commitment to style.

Breathless and slightly disheveled, Trisha stormed into the office, her heels clicking rhythmically against the tiled floor. Her usual grace was dampened by the unexpected obstacle of a cancelled metro stop, leaving her feeling more frazzled than fashionable.

Andy, her boss, glanced up from his computer screen, his brows furrowing in concern. Despite his less-than-imposing stature and protruding belly, his demeanor exuded authority. “Good Morning, Trish!” he chirped, attempting to inject some cheer into the morning chaos.

“Morning, Andy,” Trisha replied, depositing her bag on her desk and powering up her laptop. “Just a typical Monday morning scramble,” she quipped, flashing a wry smile as she kicked off her heels, momentarily relieving the pressure on her aching feet.

“You look flustered,” Andy observed, his gaze lingering on her discarded footwear. “Perhaps sneakers would be more practical for your commute?”

Trisha chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ll stick to heels, thank you. A girl’s gotta have her standards,” she retorted, a playful twinkle in her eye.

With her coat hung in the cloakroom and a steaming cup of coffee in hand, Trisha settled into her routine, ready to face whatever challenges the day might bring.