Anywhere in the story:
Some people are like Slinkies - Not really good for anything, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push ‘em down a flight of stairs
(alternatively, substitute “see 'em fall” for “push 'em”)
Sara objected to formal fundraisers at the best of times, and tonight wasn’t one of them. Her target, multi-billionheiress Egypt Ritz[1], was the exact sort of person Sara had grown to despise on sight. Therefore it was something of a supreme effort not to do so to the woman’s carefully sculpted face.
“Darling,” cooed Egypt. “I simply can not believe you organized the entirety of this gorgeous little soiree.”
“It’s not as hard as you might think,” Sara faked a natural smile and resisted the urge to grit her teeth.
“Obviously. The rare times that the paparazzi snap you, you’re always wearing hideous and cheap pret a portier.” Translation: street clothes for the plebs.
“I prefer to reserve my budget for more worthy goals, dear,” If she believed in heaven or hell, tonight she earned years off of purgatory for not adding a snarl to that sentence.
“Well obviously, it would be difficult to salvage that figure and that face,” smiled Egypt.
_ I will kill you, later. After a thorough kharmic realignment._ “Yes. Well. Anyone who can afford ten thousand dollars for a dress she wears once can certainly afford the underwear to match. Or did you leave it somewhere and forget about it when you chose to show it off, last week?”
Egypt’s bland, botoxed half-smile faded into a semi-sneer. Point to Sara.
“And speaking of thousands of dollars,” Sara continued, taking joy in pretending she had no clue about what had previously issued from her mouth, “there is the issue of sponsored nutrition for the -ah- less than affluent kiddies. You can hold a giant cheque to make sure nobody can see up your dress.”
“How kind,” Egypt snarked. “I’ll think about it.”
“The Adrien family will be donating an even million, to begin with,” added Sara. She knew without a doubt that Miss Ritz would not allow herself to be overshadowed by someone less telegenic than herself.
Daddy collected her by the elbow as Egypt swanned off to get photographed with prettier people. “That came close to homicide…”
“Some people are like slinkies, Daddy,” said Sara. “No functional use whatsoever, but such fun to watch fall down the stairs.”
“No pushing her.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Sara sighed.
[1] Any resemblance between this lady and certain others named after a city and a hotel are strictly imaginary. I swear. Cough.
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