I’ve been having one of those weeks for a couple of years now. You know what I mean. Those weeks.
The kind of week that bleeds into a couple of years, a bigger waist size, and earlier bedtimes. Don’t turn your back on me darling, I know you have them too.
Even though the stretches of mundane-doldrums seem to get longer as we get older, there are still opportunities for spontenaity, and dare I say affairs of the heart?
Last night I had a most-harlequin-inspired experience. A tall, dark and handsome past love of mine showed up on my cool, crips, fall doorstep. I used to joke around with one of my past hot-lovers that unless Mr. Wonderful came knocking on my door I would likely not be meeting anyone to share the joy of my smouldering feminine side.
But last night, it happened. I was fresh from a hot soak, and a very generous glass of bourbon. I had spent a full hour pampering myself, shaving the picky bits, polishing the smooth bits, and getting lost in past escapades with my yummy lovers.
I had settled into a fresh nightie, and was cozied up in the duvet with a thick book, and another helping of Kentucky’s finest when I heard a knock at my patio door. Had I been completely and utterly sober, I likely would have held my breath and panicked at who might be waiting on the other side of the dark door.
Under the circumstances, I was about as mellow as a girl can get before fading into dreamland, and without a thought I jumped up and brushed the blinds aside, peering out into the darkness.
On the other side was one of the fine specimens who had crawled into my memory earlier, with his charming smile, warm lips and hot thighs.
Under the circumstances, my mind did not leap to, “What the hell are you doing here?”, or wondering if he had come to inform me of some sexually transmitted disease that would render my tender bits a festering wound of death. Instead, I opened the door.
“I missed you,” he said, right before he stepped inside and wrapped me in a wonderfully passionate embrace complete with warm, wet, kisses and a hard hello on the other side of his trousers.
Pretty freaking amazing isn’t it my darlings? Pretty hot!
Also, pretty freaking unlikely my innocent little bundles of apple crisp.
If you’re in a bit of a rut like me, if your cynical side has wrestled your romantic girly-girl into begging-uncle submission, I suggest you remember all of the wonderful, gentle, sexy and kind men out there who are looking for a classy gal like you.
Go ahead, get out there. Drag yourself to the café, to the fair, to the party…it’s true, Mr. Wonderful won’t likely come knocking at your door. You’ll have to find him yourself.
But just in case, never go to bed ugly.