So now I've been "seeing" someone for awhile and we're "taking it slow." We met in public and since then we've always been in public. Always. In other words, I haven't bothered to shave my legs.
Until yesterday. That's right, in the complicated world in which we both live (I have a teen daughter who lives with me, he a son) I actually discovered a time when we might actually be able to be ALONE. My daughter was going to be at school and we both had the same day off. Empty house, many hours...?
So, pencil it in! Let's get this show on the road - we're adults, right?
Right. We are adults who have lived with and for our kids, shown up for work, put in overtime, paid the bills, grocery shopped, made dinner, gone to school functions, helped with homework, schlepped to the mall and back. And ignored the fact that we have been quite alone as adults, both of us, and have been for a long, long time.
But, hell, opportunity has knocked so...carpe diem. Sure, 9:00's fine.
I get up late, 8:15, and realize that I haven't been off work for over a week - my house is a mess. I run like a mad woman, cleaning what I can and throwing the rest into closets, sweeping the cat fuzz under the furniture. My kid hasn't done her chores, of course, so now I also have to throw the dirty dishes into the oven! It's 8:30!
I hop in the shower and realize that I haven't had the chance to shop for shampoo, crap! But I spot the dog shampoo on a shelf in the bathroom and quickly deduce that it MUST be made out of the same kind of stuff as ours, so how bad could it be?
I soap up and grab for the razor. OMG, it's quite probable that someone other than my kid is going to see my legs for the first time in - ach, don't think about that now, just shave! It's 8:40!
It's my teen's razor. It appears that she's used it somewhere between 150 to 200 times, what with the rust and the dull grey blades. And yet it's all I have, so I shave away. I've only got 20 minutes to get ready - quick, get out of the shower, woman!
Something stings a bit, but I don't have time - I grab what I can to wear, a skirt and a cute little shirt and I blow my hair dry - oy! It feels like hay - oh yeah, the dog shampoo. Shoot. Well, that's okay, I can just pull it back with a headband, even though it's sticking straight out, but only on one side, hell, it's got to be okay because it's 8:50 and I have to put on makeup - oops, the mascara's old and I got me some major clumps...let me just try to wipe that off...oh, no, that's his car! He's five minutes early, oh blast it...I wipe off the clumps as best I can without the mirror and dash out for the front porch. Casual, girl, you're cool, no big deal!
He gets out of the car looking a bit frazzled himself, what with the advent of this quickie set-up, forced intimacy situation we've found ourselves in. He walks to the bottom of the stairs, takes me in at the top and stops. "What happened to you?"
"What do you mean?" I squeak, about ready to stroke-out with nervous insecurity.
"There." He points.
I look down to see that my legs look as though a serial killer has tried and failed. Blood is trickling down my very white, razored legs from about 5 different small slashes. Ugh! I make it into the house only to catch my face in the mirror - my expression is like a deer in the headlights, I have smeared one of my cheeks with mascara blobs and my hair looks like the backside of a jackass on a windy day.
But hey, we've conveniently found some alone time...right?
We hug. He sits. I sit. It's quiet. The conversation touches lightly on politics, religion - and turns very quickly to our mutual hunger for...lunch?
We high-tail it outta there, somewhat relieved to be in public again. After all, we definitely know we both love food.
It appears that prowess, for me, can't be scheduled. And that's okay. I can always shave my legs again.
And so I remain: Uncoupled on North 82nd Street.
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