On Tuesday morning, I booked a roundtrip ticket on Amtrak for Thursday. As in today. I’m scheduled to board a train southward and for the first time since parting ways with Ex, I’m landing smack dab in the middle of our nation’s capital. I have dinner plans. God no, not with him. Talk about taking two steps back. No, my evening plans are with Mr. Perfect. Those butterflies sure are flapping more than before.
I realize you can’t control the presence or absence of chemistry. It’s either there or it isn’t. But I also believe in putting your best foot forward. Depending on the outfit I finally settle on, said foot will either be wearing a tall, black, leather Prada boot or a skinny heeled, pointy toed, black leather, Helmut Lang pump.
I don’t usually put this much thought into my appearance. That isn’t to say I’m a disheveled mess. It’s just that I’ve ironed out my routine. I know what I feel sexy in, I know what I feel comfortable in, and I know when each mood is appropriate. Even still, that didn’t stop me from trying on seven skirts, five pairs of pants, three blazers and ten tops. Nothing and I mean nothing was left on the hanger by the time I was done.
With my attire pretty much settled, I did some prep for what lies beneath it all. In search of the smoothest possible legs for Thursday, I didn’t bother shaving on Wednesday. I also took a mid-morning break to run over to the salon so Rachel could tidy things up.
“Who else would blow on your knish?” she asked in her Russian accent after ripping a strip and gently blowing to reduce the pain.
“Can you do anything with my eyebrows when you’re done down there?” I inquired.
“Mamaleh, once he gets a look of this," she said while Vanna White-ing her efforts, "he won’t care whether you have any eyebrows.”
Listen, don’t go getting on your sassy horse. It isn’t that I have any intentions. A groomed down there is oftentimes more about me feeling sexy than me actually having sex. Flipped on its head, an ungroomed down there makes me feel anything but sexy. So while there are no intentions, my goal is to make sure there are also no limitations. I'm doing all of my thinking now so I don't have to do it then.
At a little past five, when the train pulls into Union Station, I’ll saunter out to the curb, hail a cab and make my way over to his hotel. I’ve already forewarned him that I might spend a few minutes outside with the valet guys. Just to work through my nerves. And then that’s it. I’ll take a deep breath, kick up my heels, surrender to the unknown and see where the evening takes me.