Exasperated, she put her head down on the cheap, white Formica table in front of her. Ordinarily, the one time of day that she could sit in complete silence, sipping on her strong black coffee, she would be quite content on reflecting on past events, or composing a mental 'To do' list. Today however, this was different. She was utterly and completely exhausted. And as a result of being so over tired, she only had the same thought, with the occasional updated, slightly more dramatic version, rolling through her head. The wedding. The blasted wedding.
Adjusting her head on to a 2006 phone book, in the process snagging a few of her long mahogany hairs on a glass ashtray, she sighed the sigh of thousands. “What the hell am I going to do?” accompanied the many scenarios of the same theme that were over taking her brain. She stayed like this, doing an impressive imitation of what one could only call a zombie, for a few minutes, blinking at the fruit bowl. After a while, she came to the realization that her coffee mug with a cheerful picture of a fuzzy bear holding a 'I love you more than chocolate' heart, was dry. This was not on. She arranged herself into a vague upright position, and stood up from the table to advance to the stainless steel bench, which was holding many other mugs void of coffee, waiting to be washed and neatly put away. Her silence was abruptly broken by the raucous ringing of her phone. Standing there staring at it, she marveled at the sheer rudeness of the interruption. Eventually mustering up the energy to reach for the screeching gadget, she answered it.

“Hello, Sahara speaking” - even in times of strife, manners were important. “Darling!!” Exclaimed her disgustingly cheerful mother. “Hi Viv.” she groaned - Ever since she was knee high to a grasshopper she had called her mother by her name. Many times she had pondered on reasons behind this. Many theories, none concrete.
“Now, I'm calling to confirm with you about dinner tomorrow night. Your father insists on playing some evening cards with his bridge buddies, so I'm pushing it back till 8. I hope this suits?” She queried, holding a tone that implied even if it didn't suit, tough cookies.
“Well that would depend on Jess. She has soccer tomorrow afternoon, and they're training for trials. She'll be buggered by the time we get back here.” Sahara stated, instantly regretting using two certain words whilst talking to her mother - “Jess” and “Buggered”.
“Language! If you were still living here, you'd be promptly fed with soap! And I'm sure Jessica would be more than delighted to spend a Friday evening with her grandparents. It's vital to a girl of her age to be involved with family activities....” at this point Sahara zoned out to the maternal yet slightly accusing words, busying herself by adjusting the kettle cord so it pressed up against the wall at the certain angle it required to provide power for the process of boiling the water for her precious fourth coffee of the day. Looking out the window she noticed the cat from next door batting a small mouse across her once manicured, now scraggly overgrown lawn. The mouse struggled free, and bolted. She could empathize with the small rodent, her mother had the very same effect on her.
“.... and Garth was saying just how lovely you'd look in that blue dress that you wore to the Christmas dinner last year at the Barker's house...”
“Hang on!” Sahara snapped back to reality. Reality being Viv's droning, “When were you talking to Garth? And why?”, hastily pouring the piping hot water into her mug, she walked back over to the cluttered table and sat down quickly. This should be interesting.
“Well dear, he rang yesterday for some advice on the wedding. I was quite chuffed that he thought of me actually. Then again, that mother of hers can be rather vague at the best of times, sometimes I do worry about poor Cheryl, things must be so hard now that Jack has moved in with that unsightly Claudia woman...”
Sahara sighed heavily before interrupting another potentially long winded spiel from Viv.
“Why on earth were the two of you involving my name in the conversation?” She demanded, wondering what exactly she did to deserve this on her precious and oh so rare day off.
“That should be obvious to you Sahara, it's only natural that you're part of his big day.” declared Viv, displeased.
“Viv,” replied Sahara in a similar, yet slightly more vehement tone, “Could you please be kind enough to inform me of which exact culture is it natural for one to be part of her philandering ex husband's wedding? And if there is such a world out there, maybe you, Garth, that wench of a fiancée of his, hell even Claudia for all I care, can go and sail away to this magical land and get that bloody wedding over and done with, while I sit here, none the wiser, and finish my damn coffee!!” with this, Sahara let out a yell, slammed the phone down, promptly picking it back up remembering it was a cordless, turned it off and banged it doubly hard onto the table.

“Bastards!” She exclaimed loudly to the laundry basket at her feet. Hearing a thump from the other end of the house, she took a deep breath before greeting a curious Wags who came skidding into the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about, and more importantly if food was involved.
“Hey boy, sorry bout that” she said to the slightly ruffled terrier, who was trembling somewhat, not used to seeing his beloved owner in such a state.
“You know what Wags?”, the dog cocked his head to the side as if listening intently, “You're just about the only male who I can stand being around right about now”. At this point, Wags, already disinterested, was sniffing around his food bowl for scraps. What did a canine have to do to get fed around here these days?
Sahara stared at the mutt, bought for Jess's - sorry Jessica's - 6th birthday, struck by the realization that she had got to the point where she was having a one sided conversation with a dog. A cute one nonetheless, but still. A dog. Motivated by that pathetic thought, she stood up quickly, picked up the overflowing mountain of washing, and padded out to the laundry. Sorting through the assortment of items, she arranged piles into urgency, mainly Jess's soccer gears were the priority, and Sahara's good True Religion jeans that she wore when she went out - and let's face it, there was no blue moon due on this day - were not.
Rifling around her daughter's various sports gears, tops and a couple of items that were apparently a 'must have' in the world of small eleven yr olds, she routinely checked pockets for any stray devices or confectionery items that may have lodged themselves in the garments, poised for ruin. This had happened many a time in the past, causing masses of tears, and on the odd occasion, even Jess got upset too.
Feeling something in her daughter's nightshirt pocket, Sahara retrieved it. Looking down at the crumpled and obviously well read - and reread - bit of carefully designed card, she felt her stomach dip out.
“Oh darling.” she murmured. In her hand was the pretentious invitation, cordially informing Jess that she was expected to be at her father's wedding, 'R.S.V.P by 14th of March, and no later'. Any eleven year old girl would be confused by this turn of events, especially in this case. Exacerbated by the fact that she'd had barely anything to do with her father's partner, now Jess was expected to go to the extravagant ceremony, and endure the official welcoming of her stepmother into her family. And not be a part of the wedding party. Due to 'limited funding'. What a load of stinking, steaming, rubbish. It was uncanny how far 'limited funding' could extend to providing a 12 piece band and 200 guests, but somehow couldn't be stretched towards kitting her sweet daughter out for a day. That witch of a woman! God forbid she publicly acknowledge that her husband to be - slash personal bank - had a practice go at the whole matrimony thing - even producing a child in the process - in the chain of brief events that was laughingly called their marriage. Even worse, Garth wouldn't stand up to Bethany, therefore automatically excluding Jess, without so much as an explanation, let alone an over compensating, massively high tech bribe – his usual way of comforting himself about letting down Jess. Needless to say, their only child had a closet brimming with unused gadgets, acquired over the past 4 years.
Frustrated beyond belief, Sahara stuffed all the clothes and towels in to the rapidly dying washing machine, forgetting about sorting them into appropriate piles for different cycles, went back to the kitchen and picked up the phone that she'd usually have a strong allergy to. Today, however, was a different story.