the way she looks flustered.
Hmmm, and I haven’t even started my fun…yet.
He sees her quicken her pace halfway to her car.
Excellent!
Doesn’t look around though, until she’s in her car and pulling out. He lets out a pleased sigh as she leaves the parking lot.
“Until next time, bitch!” he says aloud, starting his engine and driving the other way.
Pre-class Jitters
Huh? What is that? The circuits in my groggy brain attempt to connect. The clock. My stupid alarm clock. Who the hell invented them? He should be shot, brought back to life and then shot again! Without opening my eyes, I reach over and slam my hand against it. The annoying machine skitters across the nightstand and crashes against the wall. With a satisfied grin, I listen as it pathetically beeps out its last wakeup call. It manages only a half dozen or so before it falls forever silent. Excellent!
Perhaps I should keep track of how many of these contraptions I’ve destroyed over the years. Images of alarm clocks, their intricate wires and circuit boards spilling from their shattered cases come to mind. I can’t help but smile at the pretty picture it paints.
Eyes still closed, I begin my getting out of bed routine. Some might call it stalling. I prefer to think of it as making sure that I’m fully prepared to face whatever the day might throw at me. My regimen begins with a leisurely cat-like stretch. Still lying in bed, I reach my arms overhead and interlace my fingers. Facing the palms of my hands outward, I push them away from my head, grunting. Several joints crack in the process. Geez, when did that start? Used to be able to stretch and work out without anything aching or popping. Now I creak in the morning. Great! I’m sure a walker isn’t far behind. I slowly allow the stretch to work its way down the entire length of my body, wiggling this way and that as more joints crack into position. Finally the stretch reaches my feet, and my toes curl.
I throw the covers back, attempting to convince myself that I will soon get up. I open my eyes and try to focus. Who am I kidding? I slam my eyes shut and roll over, covering up in the process. My body melts against the mattress once more.
Feel like I didn’t sleep at all last night. And based on the snarled sheets, it’s clear I tossed and turned—a lot. Can’t stop thinking about it. The class. Is this a good idea? A stupid one? One that’ll help? Or hurt? No wonder I’m so tired.
My need to pee becomes incessant. I try to ignore it. No use. Reluctantly, I open my eyes and peek over the edge of the bed. Princess, determined to eke out every possible moment of rest, is still asleep. Good girl. Stepping over her, I pad my way to the restroom, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and combing my fingers through my hair.
I sit on the toilet and rest my face in my hands while thoughts plague my mind. Today’s the day! No turning back. Am I gonna be able to provide what I want for these women? Or am I just setting us all up for failure?
Getting up, I flush and go to wash my hands and face, and brush my teeth. As I reach for a towel, Princess comes in and sits beside me. “Wanna go out?”
She springs to attention and wags her tail, several barks escaping. I grab my robe from behind the bathroom door. Slipping in an arm, I smile at its plush softness. Not like those skimpy lingerie robes I used to wear.
Here’s the thing. A robe is a robe. Right? By definition it’s supposed to cover you up and offer warmth. Well, the ultra sheer, damn-you-look-hot “robes” I used to wear offer none of the above. They’re just for show. Pretty packaging for what lies underneath.
I nuzzle my chin against the plush shoulder of my robe. Now this is what a robe should be. Sensible. Warm. And revealing just enough to entice onlookers without the wearer freezing to death in the process. What they say is true. Age really is accompanied by wisdom.
I head downstairs with Princess bounding down the stairs ahead of me. When she gets to the bottom, she turns and barks at me to hurry. “I’m coming, girl.” I let her out, then pour myself a cup of coffee. By the time I’ve fetched a yogurt from the fridge and added cream and sugar to my mug, Princess is at the door.
I open it, and she bounds in. Acting as if she hasn’t seen me in weeks, she circles, barks and rubs against my legs. I have to steady myself against her weight so she won’t knock me over. She calms down, giving me the opportunity to prepare a bowl of food for her.
We eat our breakfast in silence. Well, not exactly in silence. Princess is an enthusiastic eater who smacks, licks and pushes her dish from one end of the kitchen to the other before she’s done eating. I find myself staring at her as she licks every square inch of her bowl, making it spin like a noisy top against the tile floor.
Done, she looks up as if asking for more. “No more,” I say. “We girls gotta watch our figures.” She lies down and begins grooming herself. Meanwhile, I finish my yogurt, pour myself another cup of coffee and head upstairs with Princess hot on my heels. Who needs a shadow when they’ve got a dog like mine?
Heading toward my closet, I shoot a quick glance at the clock. Two hours before class begins. This is really happening. My stomach fills with spasmodic butterflies, and I begin to lose my focus. Shaking off the nervous feeling, I set about choosing what I’ll wear.
First I pull out a pair of jeans and a camisole top. Standing before the full-length mirror set in the corner, I hold the items against me. Ach! These won’t work. I toss them on the bed and try again. Every outfit seems wrong. Before long, my bed is covered with a mountain of rejected clothing. I look at the clock again. Geez! Half an hour gone. How did that happen?
I go to the closet, near desperation. Aha! I know. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? I put on an outfit and stand before the mirror, admiring my selection. My feet are strapped into my new come-fuck-me stripper heels. And the mini-skirt I’ve chosen accentuates my trim legs. The camisole I first chose and then rejected complements the outfit. Nodding my approval, I hear the phone ring and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, girl,” comes Angel’s voice. “Wanted to wish you good luck today.”
“Thanks.”
“How you doing?”
“Better now. Had a wardrobe dilemma but figured it out.”
“You ready?”
I draw in a deep breath and exhale. “As ready as I’m gonna be.”
“You’ll do great.”
“Thanks. Hey, don’t mean to cut you off, but that whole wardrobe thing has me running late. Call you after class?”
“Sure. Break a leg.”
I hang up, then finish getting ready. It’s amazing how easily I slip back into wearing five-inch heels. Seems like just yesterday I was stripping in them. Putting the finishing touches on my makeup, I look at the clock. Only fifteen minutes till show time.
I head to the studio,
