5:45 PM |
I have been divorced for 8 years. This apparently does not preclude the gifting of automated vacuum cleaners and NFL-themed polyester products. Now don't get me wrong, I am as big a football fan as anyone, but another sunggie "as seen on TV" is just plain too much to bear. Like most wives, I have been receiving "practical" gifts for every occasion. Pots and pans, makers for waffles and popcorn, the latest steam iron... In fact, I have even been guilty of suggesting such metal devices myself. It just seemed so selfish to ask for a diamond ring, a pearl bracelet, heck, a manicure.
My imaginary boyfriend would always give me romantic gifts that were so perfect that even I wouldn't have thought of them. And I wouldn't be embarrassed by the touching sentiments behind them. In fact I wouldn't mind the touching at all.
When I was going to meet the possibly-real imaginary boyfriend, I lavished expensive lingerie upon myself. One thousand dollars worth,to be exact. I twisted back and forth in front of the full-length mirror, checking for back fat, seeing how the leg openings hit my 51 year-old hips, how my breasts bulged out under my armpits. Oh god, I never used to have cellulite. I chose to concentrate on the fine detail of my new bras and fancy panties.
What color to choose? I bought the red set because the panties have a perfectly-pleated frill on the sides, and miraculously still lay flat under my pants. I bought the midnight blue set because it is wildly elegant. The blue ones have criss-cross detailing between the cups and in the middle of the waistband (a hip band?), exactly at the spot on my lower back where I imagined my IBF would kiss me. I bought an exquisite taupe ensemble, sophisticated as it gets, but found that when I went to Florida it was just too deep. The black ones are perfect, but may be a bit much for a first meeting with the maybe real IBF. He is 33.
My imaginary boyfriend would always give me romantic gifts that were so perfect that even I wouldn't have thought of them. And I wouldn't be embarrassed by the touching sentiments behind them. In fact I wouldn't mind the touching at all.
When I was going to meet the possibly-real imaginary boyfriend, I lavished expensive lingerie upon myself. One thousand dollars worth,to be exact. I twisted back and forth in front of the full-length mirror, checking for back fat, seeing how the leg openings hit my 51 year-old hips, how my breasts bulged out under my armpits. Oh god, I never used to have cellulite. I chose to concentrate on the fine detail of my new bras and fancy panties.
What color to choose? I bought the red set because the panties have a perfectly-pleated frill on the sides, and miraculously still lay flat under my pants. I bought the midnight blue set because it is wildly elegant. The blue ones have criss-cross detailing between the cups and in the middle of the waistband (a hip band?), exactly at the spot on my lower back where I imagined my IBF would kiss me. I bought an exquisite taupe ensemble, sophisticated as it gets, but found that when I went to Florida it was just too deep. The black ones are perfect, but may be a bit much for a first meeting with the maybe real IBF. He is 33.