“There’s five bucks and a half-used tube of red lipstick in it for you.” I sweeten the pot because, apparently, I’m a black-market toilet paper dealer now. Meanwhile, I’m sitting over here, air-drying on the porcelain throne, worrying I’ll never feel my feet again, while Miss Barbie Heels makes up her mind. She’s not convinced I won’t do something creepy if she comes near my stall. Just out of toilet paper over here and was hoping you could slip me a roll.” “Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out! I’m normal, I swear. (I’m assuming he’s ugly because it helps me sleep easier at night.) I laugh, trying to sound as little like a serial killer as possible, because any minute now, Ryan Henderson will be arriving at the party, and I need to be out there to see his ugly face first. “Uh, I think I’m okay with this stall.” The woman is undoubtedly shooting off a frantic text to her date saying if she’s not out of here in five minutes, it was the woman in the middle stall who killed her. Her clicks come to an abrupt halt, and suddenly, I’m aware of how creepy I sounded.īecause…yeah, currently, I’m sitting on a toilet with my fancy little cocktail dress hiked up to my hips and the telltale prickles of a woman who has had no choice but to sit on a toilet seat for far too long shooting down my legs. She passed me, choosing the far end of the row like a normal person.
I wait, measuring the seconds passing by, the click, click, click of a woman’s high heels drawing nearer. He will see all that he has missed out on and weep on the floor, clutching my legs, begging me to give him the kiss he left behind all those years ago.Īnd FINALLY, I hear the door squeak open. Because mark the words coming out of my red lips: Tonight, I will crush Ryan Henderson under my black stilettoed feet. In short, I’ve made sure that tonight-the night I come face to face again with my archnemesis-I look the best I’ve looked in my adult life. Best of all, I’ve perfected a killer winged eyeliner and paired it with a little black dress that has had men eyeballing me from across the bar all night long. Tons of friends-because family makes the best friends, am I right? And I’m at least four inches taller than I was in high school (read: two inches).
Point is, I’ve got a lot going for me now. But it’s definitely somewhere around three times a week. Not only am I the Southern queen of the gourmet donut tycoon, but I’m turning down men calling me up nightly for a date. My best friend, Stacy, and I opened the bakery three years ago, and we have been enjoying a nice bit of success ever since. I’m now thirty years old and majority owner of Darlin’ Donuts-one of Charleston’s top hotspots. No longer am I that naïve little graduate, excited for a kiss from the enemy. Is it possible to use water to turn out the sun?īut tonight…tonight, I resurrect the battle.
0 kommentar(er)
