Sad

I hate wearing make-up.

It's a job, I suppose. And the hours are good, for the most part. I get my weekdays free sometimes but I hate evening work. It's tedious.

I was in a circus once. Dusty. Smells of poo. Elephant poo. Lion poo. And popcorn. Sweetness mixed with shit. Kids' parties are the same.

I don't like getting squirted in the face and I hate the sound that balloons make as you're twisting them. Goes through me. Always hurts my fingers tying them too. And folding those handkerchiefs after I've pulled them out of my sleeve? Don't get me started.

I don't really like kids. Or cake. Or pranks. And the wig's itchy. Makes me sweat.

I wish I was an undertaker. You get to wear black and you never have to smile. It would be nice not to smile. I want to be austere and a bit bland for a change. Serious. Your face wouldn't ache as much.

Sensible shoes would be nice too. Some polished brogues. Patent. Lovely. I could see my face in them.

Without make-up.

***

182 words

This was from a prompt to write about a sad clown.

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