I stood up from tying the corset topped fishnet stocking.
“Would you like to go to Shul with me sometime?” He asked, leaning up against the door frame, nonchalant and chill. Remarkably comfortable in blue lamè and lipstick.
Shul… shul… shul… somewhere in my frazzled brain was a voice telling me I should know what “shul” meant. I needed to know what that word meant. Don’t let him know you don’t know what that word means
My place was so full of people I didn’t know and people I didn’t like. My head was so full of contrary thoughts.
I liked him. I wasn’t supposed to. That was bad. Nicole liked him. She likes everybody a snarky voice whispered. My snarky voice.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Are they ever?
Things were already spinning out of control, snowballing full speed down a steep hill where everyone and everything in its way was going to be demolished. The USS EJ leaves a massive wake of destruction.
I sobbed. I hiccuped. I emerged from the bedroom but he was gone. Fishnet clad legs carried him out of the condo and into his truck with 4 or 5 drunken friends, his job for the night to drive them safely to their next destination where presumably the hostess wouldn’t abandon her guests to cry in the bedroom.
Messed up? Beyond description. Regardless of the fucked up things going on that night and in my life, that was I was asked out on my last first date. So looking like Cleopatra and seeing some man legs in fishnets will always make my knees go a little squishy.