I won’t pretend I wasn’t thinking of Mark as I got ready for the party. I put on my make up and ironed my hair in the mirror, wondering if he would be there. Would he bring along a date to torture me? My heart raced the whole time. I wore a cherry red button up silk blouse, a fitted black Halogen skirt with silk stockings (nude color), my (faux) pearl necklace, gold bangles, and my favorite red (faux) Louboutin ‘fuck-me’ heels. And I wore black lace tangas and a matching bra. Just in case.
I arrived in my uber at around 9pm, shortly after dinner had already ended— I wasn’t hungry. I checked my coat and quickly found a small group of my female office-mates chatting at a table, all of whom were older than 40 (and some way older than that!) They hugged and kissed me when I arrived, gushing about my outfit, my earrings, my shoes. In that crowd, I stood out like a sore thumb. I scanned the party but couldn’t find Mark, so I decided to relax and enjoy myself in spite of my disappointment. Would it be a long night? I ordered a glass of Malbec, then another, and enjoyed what I could of the conversations above the din of loud club music.