My pits were fine, but my apartment was a mess. I had to begin with the bedside table; it speaks volumes about who you are. It’s like your smell or your choice of shoes. I rearranged my bedside table book arrangement, putting the French soapbox filled with condoms to the top of the stack. Some might check the book titles for anything scary: “Father Hunger” “Overcoming Overeating” “The Needy & Greedy” and be quick to shove them in the sock drawer. But since I’m frighteningly open, I leave them on display. A vase with Gerber Daisy’s, a carafe of drinking water, my eye mask, and the pill were now somehow orderly. Dusting won’t hurt. After fabreezing my bed linens, including all the pillows cause who knows which one he’ll end up using, and placing clean towels in the bathroom, I took out the trash. Then I was naked, cleaning my apartment, pre third date. I hadn’t decided what to wear, but I knew I wouldn’t invite him in unless the place was representative of the me you all know and love. It had to at least be tidy.
Random bits of mail were shoved in a bag, DVDs in their sleeves, fcuking music with the touch of a button. Fresh cut flowers arranged in the living room, beside the bed, and yes, even in a Tiffany’s tissue vase in the bathroom beside the matches. I was ready for a sleepover. Well almost. I was running late.
Late meant Frizz Ease and a hair clip. It meant one eye shadow, no time for contouring a duo. It meant brushing my teeth and washing my puss puss. There was no time for a shower and full make-up; see there’s an attitude to being put together in a hurry. It’s a good one. All women should know how to do this. Fabreeze, fresh flowers, Frizz Ease, a quick vagina cleaning, some seexy unmentionables, and you’re ready. Okay, some gloss out the door. Oh, yeah, perfume, but how French whore… I’ll skip it. Okay, I’ll add a little.
It was all for nothing. Okay, not all. See, he reads my blog daily, and says the stories in person are better because, “you smell better than your stories online.” So thankful to the designer of Creed. Loving the last minute sprtiz. “He showed such restraint, particularly when faced with $300 perfume quite literally made for a queen.” Says Yasmin. Sadly, he walked me home, offering me his arm, and when we turned corners, he ensured he was on the outside, near the curb. Sadly, because he was a gentleman. Kissing him was delicious. I wanted to hold onto it, have it last for more than the scant dusting of moments it did. But asking him up seemed cheap, cause I was with a gentleman now. It’s hard to really fcuk a gentleman. Now I want to know him, really, and his schedule is so busy, and I need to be patient, and inviting him up felt too “this will never last.” So now I’m at home with a clean crotch, flowers by the bed, and the best made bed in town. I have to wait another week to see him. I better keep the place clean. Linus, do you hear that?
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