Noelle saunters into her bedroom and glances at the green numbers on her clock. 8:08 a.m. This time shouldn't exist on Saturdays, she grumbles. Only her mother would cause her to rise this early on a weekend. She tugs at her robe and adjusts the towel on her head. Up at 7:30 for a noon lunch, she thinks with disgust. Normally, she would wake up at 10:30 for a lunch meeting at noon. Noelle kicks a shoe lying on the floor. Noelle, don't leave shoes lying around your room. She places the shoe in its box.

Noelle opens her closet to choose her outfit for the day. She rummages through blouses, skirts, slacks — none of them appropriate for the occasion. Dear, you look a little hippy in those pants. Wouldn't a classic blouse look better on you, honey? Noelle, your bra strap shows in that top. She retrieves a black poor-boy turtleneck from its hanger. *Black is the most slimming color, Noelle. When in doubt, wear black.* She tosses the shirt on her bed and turns back to her wardrobe. Noelle pauses as she fingers several pairs of jeans. She has a choice here, pulling two pairs from the closet; one a size 8, the other a 10. If Mother asks, she would be pleased to hear I'm wearing an 8. Plus, she likes slim-fitting jeans, Noelle thinks. But if I wear the 10s, they'd appear looser, and she'd compliment me on the bagginess. Plus, my stomach won't hang over, she reasons. She opts for the sized 10 pair and hangs the smaller jeans back up.

Noelle is in the bathroom again, shaking out her wet mane. She reaches for a round brush and the blow-dryer and begins to style her hair. No sloppy ponytail piled on her head today. Noelle, dear, flat hair is so unattractive on you. You need volume! Noelle flips her head over, and dries her hair upside-down. Fifteen minutes later, she stands back up, her head throbbing from the rush of blood. She smooths her locks and notices visible dark growth at her crown. Look at those black roots, Noelle. You need coloring immediately! She improvises with a zig-zag part, a trick she learned from her hair-dresser to camouflage regrowth.

Noelle begins to apply make-up, with a much heavier hand than she is accustomed to. You need make-up, Noelle! Your skin is too pale. Never go without make-up. She puts on a liberal amount of powder. Powder your nose, Noelle. Your face is shiny. Next, she carefully applies a touch of rouge. Not so much pink, dear! She lines her eyes, coats on mascara, and rubs on eyeshadow with her fingers. Noelle almost leaves the bathroom without applying lipstick. Can't forget that, she reminds herself. A woman's look is not complete without lipstick. Remember, you need the color, Honey. Satisfied, Noelle flips off the bathroom light.

Her bedroom clock now reads 8:54. Noelle pulls on her jeans and shirt. At least you won't have to suck in your gut all day, she thinks, happy with her choice of the size 10s. She slips on her black ankle boots. These never go out of style, Noelle. She studies her reflection in the mirror hanging on her bedroom door. Not too bad, she tells herself. She clutches her neck. Oops, forgot the necklace. She grabs a silver chain out of her jewelry box. Mother will approve of this, she thinks as she fastens the clasp. She'd given it to Noelle two Christmases ago.

Noelle glances around the messy room and then at the clock. 9:10. Time to clean. She frantically makes her bed and picks up all the dirty clothes littering her floor. She straightens her book and CD collections. In the living room, she vacuums, dusts the tables, puts the magazines in the rack by the recliner. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, Noelle. She quickly wipes the kitchen counter. Thank God she'd done the dishes last night. Noelle runs to the bathroom and gives it a quick once-over. Still pretty clean. Pretty clean isn't good enough, she reminds herself, wiping down the sink.

Finally, at 10:45, Noelle has finished cleaning. In the bathroom, she checks her reflection and touches up her make-up. Dear, your hair is messy. She reaches for the comb and fixes her hair. At last satisfied with her appearance, Noelle enters the living room. She straightens the pillows on the couch, rearranges the pictures on her tables. She looks down at the VCR clock. Five after eleven. Her mother would arrive any time now. Always better to be early, Noelle.

Exhausted at 11:15 a.m., Noelle reclines on the couch and channel-surfs. She almost props her feet on the coffee table, but thinks better of it. Feet on the floor, Noelle. You weren't raised in a barn.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Noelle turns off the TV and almost tiptoes to the door. She inhales deeply before letting her mother in. "Hello, Mother. How are you today?"

Mrs. Becker enters the apartment dressed head-to-toe in black. She eyes the furniture for dust and appears pleased not to see any. She then looks Noelle up and down. "Hi, dear. You look like you've lost weight. Good girl," she says, kissing Noelle's cheek.

Noelle smiles and silently thanks her size 10 jeans. "Shall we have lunch?" she asks.

Mrs. Becker nods. "Where do you want to go?"

Noelle shrugs. "You pick." Wherever they go, she decides, she is having dessert.