Clara was turning 40. Her friends had made a big thing of it, taking her out and celebrating with the usual amount of fake funereal trappings. It had been a hoot but now she was home and was left with it it, just left with it. She was turning 40 and was mopey about it.
She wandered around fairly early that Saturday, and moped. She had a cup of coffee and just looked her house over. She called it always 'the old girl', and at times, when sadness was on her, she talked to the house.
"What do you think, Old Girl?" she said. "40! Not the end of the world you say, at 125 yourself? Maybe not but it feels like the train is making its way out of the station."
The house was an old brick victorian, a style that Clara loved and it was her main treat in life, living there. But even the 'old girl' seemed to be down at the heels these days. That made her even more morose.
Clara had a good business head. She was head of the finance and accounting department for the firm; she'd worked her way up to that position and enjoyed it but she didn't have a head for decoration.
At that point she laughed at herself and said ruefully:
"Not decorating the house, and not decorating yourself!"
Clara was, for anyone who had the eye or took the time to notice, quite a physical dish. She had large, 38c, breasts with big nipples; her hips flared very nicely, thank you, and pouted into a nicely shaped ass. But Clara draped herself; she didn't really dress, she draped herself and unconsciously hid all of that away. Clara was, to be sure, there for the taking but no one seemed to know that, least of all Clara herself.
So, Clara moped. She ended up in the breakfast room with the morning paper. She read through it idly, letting her mind drift actually over the tasks that needed to be done by her department within the next few weeks. She wasn't paying attention.
She got to the back section, and an advert caught her eye. It was, it screamed, for "Makeover Inc.". It declared itself a newly established business that would help with makeovers. It declared also that Charity Simms was the proprietor, and gave a number.
For some reason Clara was struck by it and noted the number.
"Maybe I should give the 'old girl' a makeover!" she said, and that caused a caustic laugh and the comment in her head:
"Maybe you should give yourself a makeover!"
It made Clara laugh, and comment further:
"Yeah, for my 40th, a personal makeover."
But a counter voice in her mind spoke up then and said:
"Get a grip, girl, they do makeovers for houses, not old maids!"
The very harshness of what she'd just said to herself plunged Clara into her funk again. But she was determined by now. It's what she'd do for herself for her 40th birthday: a makeover for the house.
"That might just push me into making myself over a bit!" she thought then but realized what a scary thought that was, and pushed it away.
She grabbed the phone, determined now.
A chirpy, cheerful voice answered the phone immediately:
"Makeovers Inc, this is Charity."
"Uh, hi, my name is Clara Wilson and I was wondering about an appointment to have you look over my, er, house."
(Clara realized that she'd almost said herself; she immediately banished such thinking to the back of her mind, where she hoped it would stay and leave her alone.)
"Love to!" the chirpy voice said next. "Tell me where and a bit about it."
Clara went on to give the address and describe her home to this 'Charity'.
"Oh," the light, yet sweet voice said next, "That does sound lovely. I can come as soon as you wish."
"Well, I'm not dressed," Clara said, "Since it's Saturday but come ahead. Let me just throw on some sweats and I'll be ready for you."
"Good enough," Charity said, "Expect to see me in about 20 minutes."
Clara flew up the stairs to the bedroom and tossed her old indian blanket robe onto the bed. She took off her flannel pjs and grabbed a pair of used but serviceable sweats and a tee shirt. Then she remembered and took off the tee shirt, swearing now, and put a bra on.
"Otherwise," she said to herself, "You're a walking porno promotion, girl!"
There was a giggle response to that somewhere in her system but Clara couldn't quite manage it this morning.
She was barely finished, when she heard the door bell ring. She flew downstairs now and went to the door, almost out of breath.
She opened the door and found a young, thinnish woman, probably mid 20's, standing there. She had black stretch pants on, that looked like they were painted on her, as shocking red tee shirt topped it off, and black ankle boots. Her hair was spiky and a dark reddish black color.
Clara put her hand to her chest, a little out of breath, and said:
"Hi, I'm Clara; forgive the way I'm dressed but it's Saturday."
"Charity," the young woman said, taking Clara's offered hand. "Please think nothing of it."
"Come in," Clara said, stepping aside as Charity walked in, and in the process Clara couldn't help but notice the movement of Charity's ass cheeks framed by the black stretch pants.
"Stop being a goon!" Clara said to herself severely.
"Coffee? Tea?" Clara asked.
"That would be nice," Charity said, "Then we can talk about your plans for this wonderful house! What a great, great place to live!"
They went into the breakfast area, and all the while Charity was all eyes for the house. She sighed a number of times, when she saw the features of the house.
"This house is super grand!" Charity said enthusiastically.
"I'm afraid that it's like me," Clara said with her rueful laugh, "It's a bit faded and down at the heels!"
Charity giggled and said: "Nonsense, just a bit of sprucing up is all that's needed."
Clara went completely and noticeably red at that and it caused Charity to giggle again and say:
"I meant the house of course!"
Clara laughed and said: "Too bad, I need it worse than the house!" Then she broke off from that and forced herself to the main subject again:
"I just turned 40 and want to give myself a kind of gift and I think that sprucing up the 'old girl'--that's what I call the house--is just the idea, just the gift that I want."
"Good for you," Charity said, smiling at Clara, "Sprucing up the old girl!"
Clara blushed again and that caused Charity to giggle again, and say:
"Yes, I'm talking about the house too!' That got a laugh from both women, which settled them down, and Clara pushed the issue of her own personal makeover away from her mind. She discovered very quickly that, despite her kind of prickly exterior, her decoration, so to speak, Charity was genuinely warm and easy to talk to. They found their succeeding conversation to be wide ranging and interesting.
They seemed to simply enjoy themselves, as they had coffee and Clara got out some cinnamon rolls that she'd made.
"A birthday treat for me!" she explained.
"Good for you; you deserve a birthday treat!"
"Thank you," Clara said simply and her features wandered into a blush again.
"I like it when you do that!" Charity said.
The comment took Clara off guard and she said: "Do what?"
Charity laughed her infectious laugh and said: "Blush!"
"Oh," Clara responded, "I do easily, I'm afraid."
"Well it's becoming!" Charity said, and they left the subject there between themselves.
Clara asked Charity how much time she had to spare, and Charity explained that she was only going over the books etc, which was a terrible project for her today and had the day.
Clara laughed: "Maybe we should exchange here; I'm an accountant for Dawes Inc, I run their finance department."
Charity brightened and said: "Maybe we should; let's keep that in mind. You can become my angel."
Clara blushed! Charity giggled.
Charity turned the conversation in a different direction then:
"Would you show me the house?"
"Yes, but I warn you, I've done no clean up!" Clara said and the inner voice added an unnecessary:
"Not even on yourself!"
But again Clara pushed that voice away into the back of her head.
They went off to show the house, and Clara found herself, as they went toward the stairs disappointed that Charity wasn't going to walk ahead of her so that she could get another glimpse of her ass.
That thought too was simply pushed back and away. Clara told herself strictly to 'behave'.
They went through the house, including Clara's bedroom, where the dreadful robe was still on the bed and her flannel pjs were there also.
When they got finished with the whole walk through, they sat again at the breakfast table and Clara said a nervous: "Well?"
It was then that Charity took over:
"You need a make over, girl!" she said firmly.
Clara nodded but then was shocked wide eyed, when Charity continued:
"Now I mean you, you personally, you physically; someone needs to help you stop being, making yourself so drab."
"Ohhh!" Clara said and was suddenly close to tears.
But Charity went on:
"Don't you worry, girl, Charity's here and in charge and we're gonna do this together, girl friends like."
"Ohhh!" Clara said again only this time it was a brighter 'ohh'. She was surprised that Charity ended up knowing what was on her mind so clearly.
"Thank you," Clara said softly.
"No thanks needed, wait 'til you see my books!" Charity said and they shared a laugh.
Then Charity plunged ahead: "I'm gonna take you and this lovely, lovely house, the old girl, and make them shine."
.... There is more of this story ...