Danila Botha
Danila Botha
Danila Botha is the author of three critically acclaimed short story collections, GOT NO SECRETS and FOR ALL THE MEN (AND SOME OF THE WOMEN I’VE KNOWN) which was a finalist for the Trillium Book Award, The Vine Awards and the ReLit Award. It will be reissued by Guernica Editions in 2025. Her new collection, THINGS THAT CAUSE INAPPROPRIATE HAPPINESS was published in 2024 by Guernica Editions. The title story, Things that Cause Inappropriate Happiness was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. It was named by The Toronto Star as one of Twenty-One Books to Put At the Top Of Your Reading List and was recently named a finalist for the Canadian Book Club Awards, in the Short Story/Anthology category. She is also the author of the award-winning novel TOO MUCH ON THE INSIDE which was optioned for film. Her new novel, A PLACE FOR PEOPLE LIKE US will be published by Guernica Editions in 2025.
Devilish, Darling
We were driving down Yonge St in Mac’s shiny, white Mercedes. It was a little above freezing outside, so he opened the sunroof a touch. We shared a cigarette, our fingers sparking against each other’s as we inhaled sharp, icy air. We’d taken edibles earlier, and they were just starting to hit.
“See that girl?” I asked, pointing, the metallic pink from my gel manicure glinting in the hint of winter sun. Now that I could afford weekly gel manicures there was no going back to drug store press-ons or dollar store gloves.
Mac’s car felt like a float. All that was missing was my tiara.
He was trying too hard not to check her out. She had long blonde hair with noticeable roots and a smear of that pinky-beige lipstick that was so big in the 90’s. It was her jacket I was zeroing in on. Soft brown, fake suede with curly fur that lined the inside and the collar.
I’d recognize Jonathan’s work anywhere.
“That’s one of our coats,” I said, and he raised an eyebrow.
“I even know which dog it was. It was Nelly.”
"Which one was she?”
“Standard poodle, white, sweet temperament. Her owner is this charming older lady. She drops her off on her way to the farmer’s market. We had to dye Nelly’s hair light brown to match the coat.”
He shook his head.
“This has got to be a little weird, Cher.”
I shrugged. “No weirder than anything else.”
“I still have no idea what to tell my friends.”
I groaned. “Who cares? Just tell them I’m a dog groomer. Which I am. Or if you really want to, tell them I have a side business upcycling. That’s what it’s called, did you know that? When you take old clothes and turn them into something more beautiful. Like when you turn it into wearable art, that’s upcycling.”
That’s what Jonathan started doing. He’d get piles of these old jackets and coats from the Salvation Army for cheap, and then he’d add the fur I'd saved for him. Then he’d sell them to hipster vintage stores in Kensington market, for ten times the price, and we’d both make a profit.
“I mean, just look at that girl. Look how good she looks. And her aesthetic is perfect.”
“Perfect for what?”
“The brand.”
“Oh right, the play on Cruella Deville?”
“It’s for the woman who embraces her inner chaos. Devilish, Darling.”
It occurred to me how humourless Mac was. A property lawyer who’d bought his first condo while I was only starting to pay off student debt. I felt like a helium balloon slowly deflating. I felt a small ember of anger in my throat.
I was a dog groomer with a side hustle.
I was shaving poodles not snuffing them. I was an innovator.
When we stopped at the next light, I got out of the car. I never looked back, but I wondered if he did.