I step out of my well worn underwear that doubles as a turtleneck. Next I undo my overused bra that is used for comfort, obviously, because it provides no support whatsoever.
I quickly step into my brand spanking new navy blue silk undergarments--bra and tiny panties. I am amazed that my breasts actually sit where they are suppose to.
Then I throw on my skinny jeans with a crisp white tee shirt. I add a belt with turquoise stones and a pair of large silver hoop earrings.
But I'm not done yet. I slip my bare feet into a pair of black stilettos with forest green soles--a signature of the expensive brand.
I feel good. Inside and out. I feel like I could re-capture that lustful spirit that seems far away and long ago.
I stop. I look at the bottom of my shoe. The green sole of my designer pumps reminds me of something.
I think for a second and then it comes to me. The green light on Daisy's dock. The illusive light that represents the demise of the American dream. This gets me thinking and that usually means trouble.
Why do I need the outside to look sexy, for the inside to feel lustful?
My expensive designer shoes all of a sudden remind me of Daisy. Not a character I like very much.
Why have spent too much money on black stilettos and squeezed my large derrière into tight ass blue jeans and bought a bra that harnesses my well worn, droopy breasts?
It is all wrong. I have to be me. I step out of my jeans and crisp tee. I throw off my expensive shoes with the green soles. I undo my uncomfortable bra.
I breathe. A long deep, comforting breath.
I throw on my old comfy jeans, take off my stupid earrings, throw on my well worn tee and a pair of flip-flops.
I am ready for a night of lust. My way. No illusive green soles at the end of my dock. No siree!