Old Girl Looking for Love
Arabian Prince

Rosmawati that day performed very differently than usual. Armed with an office suit that he borrowed from Chelsea, Rosmawati managed to make Maryam a little slack.

"Jem, do you realize Jem?" Ask Maryam astonishment. Near him Rosmawati who was busy looking at herself in front of the mirror of her room.

At that time, he wore a plain baby pink blouse top three-quarters sleeve, which was combined with a super tight span skirt in sky blue. Not to forget he also added a green moss-patterned polkadot scraf, which formed a ribbon knot around his neck. His long hair was a tall bun, like rice tumpeng with a Bread-shaped tip Mo.

"What a fact, Jem! Your time out of the house wearing clothes like that?" Maryam. Stylish like an inspector, he walks upright around Rosmawati's body.

"Eh .. said Chelsea, this color is again ngetrend now," said Rosmawati. He circled around in various styles, facing the mirror. Now he posed like a man about to shout, while putting his palm beside his mouth, with one leg raised.

"Your oath is so strange, Jem! May your interview not run away in fear! Your appearance ngingetin me the same carnival Augustusan in my village! Geez, clowns are still a lot more conceptualized than you look today!" Maryam's comments sounded more horror. He looks worried about the appearance of a colorful rosmawati like a princess noong cake.

"When you go home crying because you lose your face, don't expect me to be willing to minjemin my face for you! There pinch Kiki's face! You don't even care about my rich talented fashion expert!" Maryam looks annoyed.

"Ih .. This is okay! Make me more confident," Rosmawati did not care about Maryam's babbling and chose to reach her high heels red color which for years neatly stored on the shoe rack.

Again Maryam glared at Rosmawati's choice. Many times the girl stroked the chest. He felt his fashion-blind best friend. "Gue ingetin once again huh, Jem! If you stay reckless wearing that shirt, you'll be a bully!"

"Udah, don't be noisy! I'm first!" Rosmawati waved her hand and rushed off to the address listed on the business card.

It turns out that wearing high heels is the most difficult thing Rosmawati has ever felt since she was born and raised by Mak Katemi. Even the task of plucking chicken feathers, nothing compared to walking using shoes that are shaped like knitted sticks.

"Where is this going?" Rosmawati began to walk, in a real sense. He seemed to be walking on a beam of footbridge that was above a precipitous abyss. However, no matter how careful Rosmawati was, the antique girl ended up falling over as well.

"Bodo very, ah!" Full of emotion, Rosmawati took off her shoes and walked barefoot. The bright red high heels that he sipped on the shoulders, no matter the strange views of the people around him.

The road to the Kingstreet Building in central London is full of struggle and sweat. Rosmawati rubbed her wet forehead with sweat while breathing a sigh of relief. "Finally ... up to, too," he murmured.

With confidence, Rosmawati entered the lobby of the building that looked so luxurious. Various Middle Eastern ornaments appear to decorate the corners of the room. On the back wall of the reception desk there is a giant red carpet decoration that attracts the attention of Rosmawati. Reminds him of a tapestry with a picture of the Kaaba that is attached to the wall of the living room in his parents' house.

"It can't fly, can it?" Rosmawati asked one of the beautiful receptionists while pointing her index finger at the red carpet. "So inget Aladin. Exciting times yes, walk the girl on the carpet, do not need gasoline," he said.

The beautiful receptionist looked puzzled, "I beg you pardon?"

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry. I'm Rozi Rosmawati. Last night someone gave me this business card. Said the man, his boss invited me for an interview, " said Rosmawati who was immediately greeted kindly by the graceful receptionist.

"Miss, Rosmawati. Welcome. You can wait until our leader comes, on the 14th floor of the Golden room, yes," he explained.

"Floor 14, Golden room. Okay," Rosmawati repeated as she held out both thumbs.

Her hair is now ruffled. Rice Tumpeng with the tip of Bread Mo was already shapeless. The bun deflated like a bakpao that had been bitten by the edge. Her hair children began to rebel out of the hairspray path. Not finding a handkerchief, Rosmawati pulled a moss-green scarf to wipe the sweat on the forehead and tip of the nose. "Perfects!" Praise to yourself.

So hard the collision, the bun to roll, fell from the tower of tumpeng. "Whoops!" Rosmawati had almost cursed and vented anger at the person she hit.

However, his anger disappeared when he saw who was standing in front of him while grimacing in pain. His eyes widened, his breathing was stupefied, his fingers trembling pointing at the handsome and charming figure in front of him. "Me-Memet?" Rosmawati suddenly stutters.

"Rose?" The figure who is none other than Mehmet, also looks as surprised as Rosmawati.

"Geez! Turns out you work in an office now, huh, Met? That's why when I looked in your hotdog cart, you weren't there. Ish ... ish .. ish," Rosmawati shook her head and spoke like a twin toddler on an Indonesian television screen.

"Beauty is also you, Met wears a suit like this. I look a lot like a Bollywood actor" Rosmawati continued her chirping without realizing that the people around her were looking at her with a look full of anxiety and fear.

Mehmet's initially stunned face was now normal. He put on a faint, slightly cold smile at Rosmawati. "Good luck" he said briefly as it passed from before Rosmawati.

The antique girl continued to observe Mehmet's increasingly distant steps and eventually disappeared behind the elevator that read VVIP at the top of the door. "Well, how did he get in there? Don't be misguided" muttered Rosmawati as she entered the elevator that was her destination from the beginning.

Rosmawati was jostling in the employee elevator for a few minutes, until the number 14 above the door lit up. She hurriedly came out and tidied her hair despite the futility. Earlier this morning, Rosmawati had sprayed too much hairspray, so her hair felt very stiff. Combed is also free, because the comb is stuck at the base of the hair.

"Wooh, how does it look like Mak Katemi's getting ticks, huh?" His grunts as he passed through an aesthetic mirror that adorned the walls of the hallway he was passing now. To make matters worse, Rosmawati pulled a comb that was firmly stuck in her hair. "Mac, toloong!" The screeches were desperate.

"Here, let me help you!" Suddenly Mehmet's distinctive smooth and soft voice appeared out of nowhere. Rosmawati turned her head and found that the handsome man was already standing firmly behind her.

Unasked, Mehmet pulled the comb from Rosmawati's head, then gave it to the young girl who was staring at her.

"Which room are you next?" Rosmawati asked, but not responded by Mehmet. The tall man just kept quiet as he walked leaving her alone.

"Eh ... Met, wait!" Rosmawati hurried to follow Mehmet to the Golden room.

"Lho, Met! You want an interview, too, huh? I happen to want an interview in the same room, too," Rosmawati's cerocos, which Mehmet has yet to respond to.

"About that interview the question is about what the hell, Met? The zodiac? Favorite food? A hobby?" His pedicab. Rosmawati was then stunned. "Hopefully there are no questions of soul mate. The end of my prospective match is still not legal," murmured Rosmawati again.

Rosmawati was about to ask again when she realized, she and Mehmet had entered the Golden room. The difference is, Mehmet immediately circled a luxurious work desk and sat proudly in his chair, staring at Rosmawati sharply.

"Well, Met, what's sitting there?" Tanya Rosmawati slowly. His mind began to be filled with fear and doubt. While Mehmet still looks calm while putting fingers near his lips and showing off a row of expensive rings that decorate it.

Hi, loyal reader Old Girl Looking For Love. Sorry, I'm going to do a promo. Maybe someone wants to stop by. But, don't expect to find Maryam's innocence there huh. Because in this novel, the author of PMS continues, so the innate use ajaaaaah heart. Okay, thank you. Don't forget to stop by, you'll love it and be impressed.

Greetings from Crazy Girls.