Abby
OK people here we go. First let me start off by saying I’m not much into Christmas. I mean I use to be but not since the last fiancé back fired. That’s a different type of story for a different type of day. I digress; anyway, yeah so don’t get me wrong, I’m not a scrooge by no means, I just don’t get that feeling around this time of year that I use too. I know, I know I’m in my 30’s and Christmas is for kids but, when did the inner child in me die?
I don’t know the answer to that question, hell I don’t think I really want to know the answer to that question. So here I am watching the clock to make sure I call my best friend and cancel this little outing she has planned for us. It’s not that I don’t want to go it’s just that I would have to put on clothes. You see, it takes effort and time and I can’t just put on some yoga pants and a nice top or jean and a nice blouse I have to in her words “act like somebody loves my ass” which is just code for put on the sluttiest thing you own, hooker heals, while letting a parrot explode on your face for makeup and let’s go.
Although I wear it sometimes. I’m not a makeup type of chick. I have nothing against those women who can do a flawless face in 30 minutes lashes included. I once tried to put on lashes for a wedding I was attending, I started getting ready a few hours before it was time to leave because I wanted to put on lashes and I knew I wasn’t the best at it. Fast forward 6 hours later I had one lash successfully on and the other eye was so irritated I ended up wearing shades through the entire thing. I looked like a very hot mess, makeup and I are learning to play nice together, but we’re not there yet.
Lost in my own thought, I vaguely feel more than hear my phone vibrating, Crap! It’s a texted from Mo.
Mo: Have you started getting ready yet?
Fuck I really don’t feel like putting on clothes. I know I’m the first one crying about how hard it is to meet a good man. And yes, I know it’s not an accurate account seeing as if I have to get dress and go someplace other than work or to the closes store to my home, I’m not going. So yeah, I know I’m wrong but it’s so, so much easier than putting yourself out there. Out there scares me, I just have to suck it up and put on a bra. God why did you let those people come up with this contraption that holds my boobs hostage? Why can’t they be free, they did nothing wrong.
Abby: No, but I’m about too.
Mo: What!!! No excuse I’m shocked.
Abby: I could still not go you know, to help you too not be so shocked.
Mo: Debby downer, why do I want to go out with you anyway?
Abby: I don’t know, why don’t you stay home and think about that? Hit me up when you have an answer, thanks luv.
Mo: O, not so fast. I will be there to get you in an hour. And yes, you do have to dress like somebody love you.
See told you so. She told me once that I dress like I don’t have a friend in the world. I will admit I’m not much into high fashion but I clean up well when I want to. I just never want to; it takes too much of everything. So, my motto is if it’s clean and it fits it’ll do. Another text form Mo.
Mo: No yoga pants, sweat pants, or overly baggie jeans unless you’re sporting a crop top.
Mo: And please wear a bra. Don’t make me have to stop at target again.
Abby: you wouldn’t?
Mo: Try me.
Damn it, see now I’m wondering why I’m even friends with her. I have to put on a bra, Lord why?
Mo: O and heals please you are way too short to be trying to wear flats.
Abby: Grrrrr
Why, why do I have to go through all of this, is the constant thought rolling through my head as I primp and pull and tug and tape and pray to God nothing comes undone while I’m walking. Men, have it so easy. They shave wash their balls through on some clothes and they’re out the door. Just not far, sometimes it sucks being a woman.
I let out a big rush of air, I don’t know how I managed but looking in the mirror a hour later I can say I’m happy with how I look. Of course, I wish somethings were smaller and other things were larger. I can’t complain, I look cute.
True to her word Mo’s parked in the drive way waiting on me. She never blows the horn she just waits till I come out, when I asked her once why, she simply says she’s not my pimp and that was the end of that conversation. As I open the door she says “Wait, don’t get in. I need to see what you look like because I really don’t feel like having to stop at Target for you.”
She’s the biggest pain in the ass this side of the equator. Yet I move to the front of the car for here to approve or drag me back into the house, arguing is futile. She looks me up and down, motions for me to spend and I do. I guess satisfied she gets back in the car without a word. I guess I passed the test, so I get in the passenger seat and buckle up as she backs out.
So here I am dressed, in heels I might add going to…... Going to…... Wait! She never said where we were going that’s not good. The only time she doesn’t volunteer information is when she knows I’ll absolute hate it whatever it is and I would not have come.
“Where in Sam hell are you kidnapping me to?” I ask
“Pipe down nobodies kidnapping you, you got in the car of your own free will.” She speaks. Oh, this is really bad. I close my eyes and take a deep breathe because technically she’s right and when she starts stating defensive facts nothing good for me has ever come of it. Which means yeah, I’m going to completely hate this. This is what I get for looking for that inner kid in me I lost. Hmm, change tactics.
“This is true I did and I’m sorry, where are we going tonight?” I say in the calmest voice I can muster because what I really want to do is ring her neck but I’d settle for just going back home. I look at her and she won’t look at me. “Mo?” I say, she looks over at me with that please don’t hate me face, as we pull up to a valet stand at The Four Seasons. I sit, there with my mouth open. The fucking FOUR SEASONS. What in the hell could we possibly be doing here? Nothing good I can tell you that much. Then it hits me, her office Christmas party, FUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKK!
