“You’re wearing heels!” he said as he gawked at the brown boots on my feet. I glanced down at what seemed to be the offending objects, turned toward him and asked why in the world he was so surprised. It wasn’t as though it caused me to tower over him.
“It’s just that you drove here,” he shrugged. “And in heels as well? You are officially hot.” I looked on incredulously as he tried to fix the horribly sexist and odd remark. It looked like he was just about ready to give up when I decided to make it worse.
“I also drive a standard.”
All conversations were over, all bets were off. I had become “the coolest woman there”, hands down. It was every man for himself and every man headed toward me. Who knew a woman driving a standard in heels was so enticing.
Ah yes. And it’s my birthday. I’m officially no longer a teen! I made myself a great, grand, wonderful Chocolate Nemesis with maybe some Raspberry Coulis (though it would seem that my brother ate all the raspberries). It has been pointed out that I can now refer to the stupid things I did in “my teen years,” this was, however, mentioned while I had only been twenty for five minutes. This was not enough time to feel enough of a separation yet. Maybe tomorrow.