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.
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.