If I was the lady in this short story I would be very angry, make sure I got a colleague to print the story and enjoy the hell out of my new toy but also I would never ever put anything online I would not want to share with the rest of the word. Neither would I speak of anything I would not want the rest of the world to know over the landline or the mobile line.
Back in the office, Audrey’s heart is still thudding fast. She is giddy as she emails her boyfriend.
“I got the bigger one,” she types. “In red.”
“Which design did you decide on?” comes his reply a few moments later; “Did you get this… or this one?” He has sent links.
She has a few minutes before her lunchbreak technically ends. Audrey takes her handbag to the ladies’ and snaps a quick cellphone photo of the product she has just purchased, with a breathless, coy description of what will be happening to it that weekend.
Her boyfriend’s email reply is just a smiley face.
For the rest of the day, she forgets about it. She is busy. Two meetings, three deadlines and an interview later, she is back at her computer. It is after-hours, but a journalist’s work life isn’t fated to finish at 5pm each day. By 7.20pm, though, she is ready to head off. She saves her piece. This week’s feature will expose a gross conflict of interest between a minister’s portfolio and an asset recently purchased by his supposedly blind trust. Out of habit, she emails herself a copy of the draft.
As she grabs her things and switches the office lights out, she smiles at the secret weight of the expensive boxed silicone in her handbag.