I have this whole idea worked out in my head, about how September is full of new beginnings, because of the new season that brings in the chill, and the return to school for kids and adults alike, and for me, how it's finally a relief to put on my autumn wardrobe. I tend to feel much more attractive in thicker knits that do a better job at camouflage, than light summer cottons that force me to stand very stiffly against walls so that nobody sees my bum.
To that end, I recently put on an extra layer of mascara, and a structured jacket, and went out for a drink with a boy who got my number at a party. "Something exciting is going to happen," I said to myself, because I had been hoping for it, wishing for it, bloody well making lists for it, and for once, I was right. It was exciting when someone wants to see you again, and you already have a good outfit in mind.
This is a very anti-climactic story.
He called me, and I met him, and we saw each other, and as I walked toward him with my head held high and my boots making crisp tap-taps on the sidewalk, I could see immediately that he just, as the book screams out, wasn't that into me. I don't know. I think possibly he was more socially lubricated than we both thought when he turned towards me that night, and possibly the lop-sided grin he flashed at me was meant for some blurry-vision of a girl who was wearing my outfit. Itís too bad that Iím the one who answers that girlís cell phone.
It was awkward, as bad dates tend to be, but mercifully short, and I was home a few hours later. He didn't walk me all the way to my car, which is a pretty grievous mistake, I think, but did make it easier to dismiss the whole evening, and not fret too much. I went home feeling more frustrated about the wasted time, and confused, because he called me, after all, and, and, and God, how did I get it wrong this time? As I said, I didnít fret too much.
So I confessed the sorry tale to some friends, and they were full of all kinds of righteous indignation, and inflated balloons of flattery for me, and mock vows to do damage to the sorry bastard who didnít walk me to my car. It was very lovely, and made me feel all kinds of wonderful, and in the end, I grinned and went to bed. And then I tossed and turned until three in the morning, because there is actually caffeine in an Irish coffee, and why didn't I order a glass of wine like I always do?
New beginnings? Well, not that part, but give me a second. So, this morning, I did my hair, and accessorized well, and applied a tiny bit of lavish to my make-up, because it is a proven fact that mascara can be soul-uplifting. And perhaps karma and Jesus saw fit to give me some change back, because later on, I saw my reflection in the big darkened window next to the bank, and wasnít at all displeased with what I saw. When I walked on to my next errand, I added a little strut to my gait, which Ė also, medically proven Ė is a balm to damaged pride.
So, to September: ten days old but still full of new beginnings. Let bad dates be nothing to dwell on, put faith in the compliments of others, and long live a good autumn wardrobe.
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