Boy, was I nervous!

I didn’t comb my hair, my heels were kicked aside under the table and obviously I was embarrassingly barefooted, moreover with unpedicured toe nails, maybe even smelly feet, and I even took off my belt because it was preventing thoroughly smooth flow of oxygen into my lungs when I sat down. My shirt was crumpled without the belt in place but one thing I had to thank was that at least my face was not gleaming like a used saucepan.

So when he appeared, flustered I was, trying to tidy my hair into place with my fingers, putting my heels on and wearing my belt. Talk about multi-tasking!

Ahhh, I don’t quite like it. I don’t enjoy the feeling of not being in control.

Let’s just get it over and done with, dude.

 

Post-post (hmm sounds weird but ya, it’s post-post, some five hours later): Finally it’s over. Dinner or no dinner with him? I cannot decide. But I guess not. Better not to hang on to anything at all.

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