Finally, pay dirt. Kristina? I can’t
quit thinking about you.
“The feeling is mutual. See you
tonight.” I can’t quit thinking
about him, don’t for half a minute
as the workday dissolves. At
last the clock says four P.M.
I race to the house, rush through
the door. Hunter is in his infant
seat on the living room floor,
and from the corner of my eye
I see him smile at his mommy.
I should stop, pick him up, shower
him with love. But I can’t slow down
or I’ll be late. I run up to my room,
choose form-fitting jeans and cropped
crocheted sweater, decide to go braless.
Then I take a long steamy shower,
plenty of soap in all the necessary
places; shampoo with ginger spice;
shave my legs with a new razor blade;
dry off, apply plenty of lotion.
Finally, I put on more makeup than
I’ve used in a year—blush, shadow,
liner, mascara, even a smidge
of lip gloss. The person looking
back at me in the mirror isn’t me.
[No, it’s me. Thanks for letting
me out to play. And BTW, the no
bra decision? Good one!] Bree