Living Funny; Dying Clumsy

Have  you  ever  wondered  about  the  process  a  woman  goes  through  in  preparation  for  a  first  date?

I’m  not  the  type  of  girl  that  participates  in  this  kind  of  activity  on  a  regular  basis  because  I  prefer  to  lounge  about  in  my  sweats  with  a  tub  of  Haagen  Dazs,  howling  out  the  ‘All  By  Myself’  song  Bridget  Jones-style.  But  when  you  see  the  same  guy frequently  over  a  span  of  a  couple  of  weeks,  you’ve  gotta  ask  yourself  a  question.  Is  fate  intervening  here?

It’s  date  night,  and  I’m  running  out  of  time.  It’s  already  gone  seven,  and  only  half  of  my  body  is  hair-free.  Look,  you  can  judge  me  all  you  want,  but  I’m  trying  to  avoid  being  one  of  those  embarrassing  date  blunders.  You  know,  the  kind  that  start  out  all  innocent  and  then  end  up  with  your  big  knickers  on  show.  I’m  trying  to  be  prepared  for  whatever  happens.

I’m  rushing  through  the  shower,  speeding  up  my  process  with  each  tick  of  the  second  hand.  Tick;  I’m  patting  myself  down.  Tock;  I’m  rubbing  my  hair  dry.  Tick;  I’m  putting  on  my  knickers.  Tock;  I’m dragging  my  hairbrush  through  my  tangles.

Have  you  ever  tried  putting  on  eyeliner  when  your  hand  is  shaking  more  than  an  earthquake?

The  doorbell  rings,  and  I  actually  start  to  panic.  I’m  rushing  around  my  room,  throwing  my  make-up  on  and  hoping  for  the  best.  I  grab  my  dress,  and  hop  towards  the  door,  putting  one  shoe  on  at  a  time.  I’m  a  woman,  I’ve  got  this  handled.

I  pause  a  moment,  taking  a  breath  before  opening  the  door.  I  smile  the  moment  I  see  him.  He’s  dressed  casually;  jeans,  check  shirt  and  a  jacket.  It’s  simple  yet  mouth-wateringly  sexy  on  him.  I  feel  like  a  predator  eyeing  him  up  as  if  I’m  about  to  eat  him  for  dinner.  Though  I  imagine  he’d  be  quite  the  tasty  treat.

I’m  too  preoccupied  by  my  thoughts  to  realise  the  length  of  time  that’s  passed  without  any communication.  That’s  when  I  notice  he’s  staring  at  me.  I  clear  my  throat,  and  offer  an  easy  “Hi!”  before  waiting  for  his  reply.  He  continues  to  stare.

“I…um…well…”  I  smooth  my  hair  quickly  before  finding  my  voice  again.  “Are  you  ready?”  I  ask.

Can  you  guess  what  he’s  doing?  That’s  right.  He’s  STILL  STARING!  I  follow  his  eye-line.  I’m  a  little  unnerved  that  he  seems  to  be  so  obviously  glaring  at  my  chest.  It’s  like  I  have  a  big  neon  sign  there  demanding  his  attention.

This  is  new  territory  for  me.  The  date  is  what  I  wanted,  but  his  behaviour  isn’t  matching  the  somewhat  Knight  in  Shining  Armour  my  mind  had  conjured  for  him.

I’m  torn  between  closing  the  door  on  him,  and  suffocating  him  between  my  cleavage.  He’s  clearly  entertaining  the  idea  if  the  cheeky  little  smirk  on  his  face  is  anything  to  go  by.

I’m  about  to  decide  when  he  finally  opens  up.  “Liberty,”  he  coughs.  “That’s  an  interesting  dress  you  have  on.”

I  look  at  him  questioningly.  I  chose  a  simple,  black,  halterneck  dress.  I  look  down  to  see  what  he’s  on  about,  when  my  face   flushes  the  brightest  pink  on  a  paint  chart.  I’ve  put  it  on  backwards.

BACKWARDS!

And  my  tits  are  hanging  out  for  Drew  to  salivate  over.

This  date  is  doomed  from  the  start.


Next week on Living Funny; Dying Clumsy find out if Liberty and Drew actually make it to their date.

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One thought on “Living Funny; Dying Clumsy

  1. Pingback: Living Funny; Dying Clumsy | justinewinter

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