It’s happening and the clock teases me by going too slowly, then speeding up too much. My 5 day kid free stretch starts in about an hour and a half and I decided I would accept not staying home or enjoying my own company. Tonight I will share my company and consider it a public service. I also think it’s time to bite the bullet and stop being afraid of people. It shouldn’t be this exciting, but it is. The caveat is the excitement is heavy handed with fear. Right now I don’t at all feel like a shameless cougar.
I hold up hangers as options and then I wait and see what they have to say. Will this one call me easy? Does this one say I’m a prude? If I wear this dress will you see my personality, and will the sweater on top if it make it all that can be seen? My insecurities creep in and I choose the dress that feels so sexy, no one needs to care what I think.
The shoes are next, and it’s an elimination process that starts with color. The shoes should match. Then I try them on, one at a time and walk in my underwear. Which ones feel stable? How do my legs look? Do they pinch my toes? I go with the pair that make me feel tall and are hard not to notice.
I put on the ensemble and decide it’s too much for something so little and I go with the dress that says I’m pretty and I’m really not as desperate as the last one made me feel. It requires a little less commitment to being weatherproof as the temperatures dip into evening and I don’t want to rely on a stiff drink to keep me warm. Stiff drinks present their own shenanigans and debauchery and I’m just dabbling in my own mischief tonight. I choose the heels that are easier to walk in.
On most days I start with a clean and moisturized face. I add blush on my cheeks, eye shadows, and eyeliner, and as an afterthought, a bit of lipstick. I like it when I can give a hug and my makeup won’t stay on someone’s shoulder. Tonight I started with a clean face but then layers of makeup piled on in layers with time to set, then in shades that compliment my dress. My mascara smells like it’s time for a replacement and I plan to grab a tube on my way out.
I change my jewelry and look for something flashy to wear, because I want soft lighting to hit shiny bits . . . if there is soft lighting. Then I take it off because I want to wear something that is tied to my every day. Part of going out is the mystery of what someone else thinks will be my idea of fun. My nerves are messing with my stomach and I’m considering if it would be better to puke or to cancel. I decide deep breathing will work too. I spritz a little Versace Red Jeans on my pulse points and decide my next splurge will be on a bottle of Ysatis by Givenchy because I’ve always loved that scent even though I rarely wear perfume. Then I giggle when I remember the time a friend tried to coach me into the correct pronunciation of Givenchy. I’m officially out of control and all over the place.
The ex calls because he’s running late, and that buys me another half hour to debate a cancellation. It’s a last minute night of shenanigans with someone I hadn’t daydreamed about spending time with. It’s a chance at spontaneity and I didn’t allow myself to think this one through and I have more time to think of the many reasons why I should take myself out alone instead. It was so much safer to imagine a silly crush because that was safe. I get a second chance at being single and it’s a bit terrifying right this second.
I might tell you how it goes, but it won’t be part of this post on anticipation because it’ll be about my Date Night. One day anticipation will smell like excitement and not taste like heart burn.