It started in innocence, out of charity. I scanned the table hopelessly, longing to bid at the silent auction for the so worthy cause, but even for a worthy cause I can not buy ugly jewelry or day trips to anywhere.
I went around and around the table, slower and slower… I drank, I ate, I made small talk... finally I spied a basket of environmentally sound cleaning products and a spray tanning session. This time they looked good to me. I bid , I scored, I won.
The next day I was at the salon, wearing a paper thong and being spray painted impersonally with a professional looking gizmo moving up and down my body as if I were a wall, being graffitied by children. I twirled my arms as instructed, rotated my body and received the oddly unpleasant treatment. It felt icy on my naked nipples and merely cold everywhere else. Blondie left the room.
The fan was on, I was to keep my arms up and twirl continually for 10 minutes in order to dry properly. Alas, I could not keep it up, I had my clothes on when Blondie knocked on the door. “You didn’t wait,” she cried out, “You will have bra lines. “I got bored,” I said, “I can’t twirl for 10 minutes. Life is too short, I am too old.
I ran off to have my hair low-lighted. Did I mention I was going to a wedding in the Virgin Islands?
Few people would know me there, which is good, because I look nothing like I did before. In fact, I do not match my passport photo and may not get to the wedding. After a tedious beauty treatment I was startled by the sight of hair that was quite a bit darker than I planned, which matched my skin, which was also quite a bit darker than I had planned.
Just minutes ago I purchased a very slutty dress to wear at the Charlotte airport where I change planes. Perhaps the plane will be delayed, giving that old, yet oddly attractive southern reprobate who’s been eying me, a chance to make his move.
He will be attracted by my tan believing me to be one of those leathery wealthy women who winter in Florida, the very lady who can help him out of a temporary fiduciary embarrassment and relieve him of the pain of endlessly cruel calls from collection agents, around the clock.
He is an alcoholic. I know this because he is thin. All men my age are overweight, except for those with long term drinking problems. He will be my first alcoholic. I have been ready for some time.