I started my day with a pep talk: Fake it till you make it, honey. Smile through those tears and wear a little extra makeup to cover up those puffy eyelids and the sadness you can’t hide. Wear your favorite panties and the hot pink bra. Feel better. In any way.
I got up at 4 and ran until I felt like I was going to puke. Eight pounds in each hand with three more strapped to each ankle. Physical strain beats heartache any day and it’s amazing what sweat can wash away.
Fitting into a smaller size sure doesn’t start the day off on the wrong foot and the aching muscles I feel when I move, comfort me somehow. I’m at least coping in a healthy way, albeit obsessive. I may die of sexual frustration and heartache, but I will do my best to look damn fine in the process.
Which is when my pretty distraction comes whistling in to save my sad day.
In 85 more days, you bet your sweet ass I’ll have those bamboo sheets on my bed.
In the meantime, I have an extremely hot shopping date tomorrow. We’re going shopping for bedding and menswear.
I played with Barbies as a child. I’ve been training for this date since I was 8 years old. I can hardly think about him without wrapping him up in imaginary slate grey polished cotton and pinstriped neckties. Don’t even get me started on his sheets.
I’d like to coordinate him to his bed, for purely selfish reasons.
Nordstrom, Restoration Hardware and Express for Men. This calls for fishnets.
Because if Barbie taught us all anything, it’s to plan on a clothes change when you least expect it, and I may adhere to his vow of celibacy, but I don’t intend to make it easy.