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  And now we continue with our next installment of Formerly Fun's BlogOpera.
When we last left off, the barista and our heroine had made love. They slept all night and when they rose in the morning, she made breakfast while he made coffee. Then he asked if she wanted to spend the day with him ... - F. Lawrence Caslin
BlogOpera (pt 7) "Well, there is a beautiful beach about an hour south of here, it's small and not many people know about it so it's quiet. Water's warm. I was thinking I could go home, shower, get some things together and pick you up in say, two hours?"
"That sounds good." And it did. Too many of my last Saturdays had been spent cleaning the house for nobody but myself; ironing sheets, folding towels into perfect thirds, organizing my closets by color and other things I suppose fill the time of slightly OCD girls just waiting to be asked to the beach.
"Here," he said as he finished up his food, "let me help you clean up and then I'll get going."
"It's okay Dylan, I'll clean up."
"Ok," he said, "let's see, it's almost eight-thirty, I'll be here ten-thirtyish to get you."
"What do I need to bring?"
"Just you, your suit and something a little warm if it cools off."
He went to go get the rest of his clothes, keys and things from my bedroom as I cleared our breakfast dishes.
He popped into the kitchen.
"I'll see you in a few okay?" he said as he swung an arm around my side and kissed me.
"I'll be here," I said, watching him walk out the door.
After Dylan left I swept through the house like a tempest. I cleaned up and put fresh sheets on the bed. I picked all the dead leaves off my neglected plants and threw away the week old flowers I had bought for myself that had shed most of their blooms and pollen in a circle around the vase.
I got into the shower and loofaed and sugar-scrubbed my body head to toe until my skin was well-exfoliated and shiny pink.
I shaved, taking great care to catch any missing bits behind my ankles or strays on the back of my thighs. I masked my face and deep-conditioned my hair. I whitestripped my teeth and redid my three day old pedicure.
Never mind he had already seen me last night completely natural and unprepared, this was another day and not a sleep-over but a date, thus, my complicated female grooming rituals followed.
I tried on every swimsuit I owned, narrowing it down to three which then had to be tried on again in a sort of runner up competition. I even considered an application of self-tanner but the lengthy process and potential unpredictable, disastrous results convinced me better. I packed a beach bag with a towel and my favorite beach blanket, a padded batik-style Indian sheet, a once-crisp, cerulean blue--now sun-bleached and muted. I had purchased it years before and it unfolded to the perfect size for two people to bask on.
All this done and it was only nine-thirty. (to be continued ...) |
Formerly Fun
