Cupid's Little Helper

E-mail this post

Remember me (?)

All personal information that you provide here will be governed by the Privacy Policy of More...

Said my sister, as I finished another long clothing consult via IM. However, the consult had done nothing, clothes-wise, to assure her sucess in this evening. Since apparel disaster seemed imminent, I told her I would dash over promptly after work to make sure she was in the best of shape.

I had tried to discuss outfit possibilities online, only to be met with negative comments and discouragement. Being the good sister that I am, I was not in the least thwarted. If I had a second date with Mr. Perfect, I would at the very LEAST be nervous about what to wear. You have to live up to whatever you wore the first time. Oh, the horror! Oh, the mental agony! Oh, the terror!

After work, I raced home and collected exactly three shirts, one skirt and one jacket. I had, in reserves, all the clothes on my body. Knowing full-well they could be drafted at any moment to dress her. You have to understand, when preparing for a hot date, anyone and anything can be drafted. You are allowed to snatch whatever you need, away from the sisters. Unless, of course, they too are on their way to a hopefully romantic evening. Since my dating karma has been rather sour as of late, there was no worries that I might be headed for such a event.

I laid out my wares. We discussed. I directed. She pouted. We deliberated. I ironed. She modeled. I disapproved. She stripped. I selected. She dressed. I inspected. She stripped. I stripped. Finially, she had the perfect outfit. Except I was now naked and shivering in the living room. All for a good cause.

After I assured myself she was perfectly dressed, perfectly groomed and perfectly at ease. But not before she could profusely thank me and assure me that "if I ever get married! It will entirely be your fault."

I know she meant that as a compliment. Right?!

0 Responses to “Cupid's Little Helper”

Leave a Reply

      Convert to boldConvert to italicConvert to link


This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


ATOM 0.3