So, Steph called me brave. If only she knew.
Went out last night with the fabulous Alana to an art gallery charity auction. Spent an hour before hand buffing and polishing myself to a pristine shine, adorning myself in beautiful baubles and fantabulous shoes and then traveling to Alana's salon so that she might make my hair a luxurious cloud of dark, swarthy curls. I love this girl, people. She can do magic!
We travel first to the lovely El Porton which serves the finest Margaritas this side of the Mississippi. Mainly because there's enough Tequila in it to make you blind, but you can't taste it at all! We get appropriately happy for the occassion, because I'm always far more charitable with my money (mainly because I'm so tipsy I don't care how much I give away) when I'm a bit toasty. We travel to the art gallery and commence shopping.
During said shopping, Alana and I are discussing the Matt situation. Alana, being recently divorced and somewhat of a . . . umm . . .hoe is such a bad word, and in truth she isn't, but she is a little more free with her favors than I could EVER be, advises me to bed Matt and then quickly bed another so as to cauterize my heart against wounding from Matt. As IF that could EVER happen, umm . . . right . . NO. I don't even know that I can sleep with Matt let alone some random male (she advises Will since he's calling me four times a day and obviously in "lurv" as Alana puts it).
We then travel to the mall 20 minutes before closing to oggle beautificus shoes which we don't need and probably shouldn't (not can't) afford. Speaking of shoes, Steph, I am gearing up . . I wore the most gorgeous shoes last night and thought of you and Chairborne, you lucky ducks. Unfortunately, the beauty of the shoes was marred by the horrendous scars on my feet from the car wreck I survived in February (though Alana swears you don't notice the scars because the shoes are so great). I figure a good pair of fishnet stockings would hide all scars . . are fishnets still in or are they trashy again??
And then off to P.F. Chang's where the cutest bartender ever pays me much attention and makes me drinks that I have never even heard of. In an alcoholic haze, I imagine that I totally can avoid all my morals and take Matt to bed with no damage to my heart. I text mail him, because I'm too chicken to call, that we are in Little Rock, slightly tipsy and that I've evaluated his offer.
What seems like hours later, I get a text mail: "Where are you, you shouldn't be driving, in fact, you should spend the night at my house."
Suddenly, I'm sober as the day is long . . my mind does a WTF jump and I switch off the phone with a quickness. I also, slightly muddled mind, make Alana leave P.F. Changs as fast as is humanly possible because I can't remember if I told him WHERE in Little Rock I was (but I have to be discreet about it because if I tell Alana he has answered, she will force me to stay and see him).
So, there. . . Steph, I am so not brave. Bevis, yes, I suppose it seems he does desperately want me . . but I don't think my heart or mind can deal with a man who thinks I'm too fluffy to date (because I'm slightly over his 125 weight limit) but just fluffy enough to bed. Woe is me.