The hot guy across the bar is definitely giving me the come on. I lick my lips and flick my hair back over my shoulder provocatively. My tight T-shirt is displaying my ample cleavage; so I lean over the bar to give him a better view. His eyes are smouldering, I can tell he wants me. I enjoy my moment of power and just go for the full on ‘take me I’m yours’ stare. Our eyes lock and I can feel the warmth building inside me. I fidget in my seat to relieve some tension, squeezing my thighs together. He begins to make his way towards me…
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! 6.45-am! The alarm robs me of my ‘happy ending’! It’s always the same. Every blasted morning, just as something good is about to happen in my dream – Beep! Beep! Bloody Beep!
My feet touch the floor and I immediately regret dancing in ridiculously high heels last night at a neighbour’s birthday bash. My toes feel like they have been replaced with claws, making it hard to walk in a straight line to the loo. I sit down and slump back into a semi-sleep with my elbows resting on my knees.
Don’t you ever feel like your whole life is on repeat?
Same routine five days a week? What a monotonous bloody existence!
Time to wake the Taliban – sorry – my kids. This is the worst part of my day – nothing but grunts, moans and random verbal abuse. Sometimes I’d like to be the “Tooth Fairy” or “Father Christmas”. Mind you, not sure they would even be nice to them!
Breakfast for the three little darlings is of course three different dishes – porridge, pancakes and chocolate cereal with the milk heated up for fifty seconds. I know, I know, I hear you all tutting in unison. What can I say? It’s easier just to cave in. It’s the same with the packed lunches – no amount of waxing lyrical about starving children all over the world will make my three agree on a sandwich filling.
Finally I have 10 minutes to run upstairs and get changed for the school run. There are quite a few hot daddies at school so I have to make an effort. Some of the other mothers look like Angelina Jolie, so to stand out I’d have to turn up naked, and that would be standing out for all the wrong reasons – trust me!
Prancing around in front of the mirror with my heels on is also part of the daily routine. Breathe in, shoulders back, boobs out, this side, that side – yes! I look exactly the same as I did yesterday. Slipping a foot into my black Armani jeans I’m greeted by a large ripping sound as my heel opens the fabric from the back of the knee to the ankle. Noooo! My best jeans, damn, why did I put jeans on with heels?
Sneaky Shopping Trip
The school run was uneventful, so I make a spontaneous decision – a sneaky shopping trip. I have a little spare cash tucked away for emergencies, and I think ripped jeans along with monumental boredom definitely qualifies as an emergency. An extra spritz of lacquer and a slick of red lipstick and I’m on my way to the local shopping mall.
A mere ten minutes speed shopping in the John Lewis department store ensures that the enormous pile of garments hanging over my left arm have turned it totally numb. Undeterred by my physical impediment, I linger in the shoe department, eyeing up the Louboutins with lust. The mere sight of them makes me feel frisky. Fingering the red leather I lift them to my nose, close my eyes and inhale deeply. This is the smell of sex, raw unadulterated sex. Suddenly I become aware that the assistant is giving me a strange look so I quickly ask her for a size 38.
When she returns and places them delicately down in front of me with a disapproving look, I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. She knows I can’t afford them. Bitch!
I slink off to the changing rooms and out of her view. Who does she think she is? Might even be worth slinging them on my credit card. That would wipe the smug look off her face. Of course I’d have to return them to Customer Services in a couple of days for a refund.
My Admirer
Stepping out of my clothes down to my undies, I slip on the shoes and repeat this morning’s performance. They are beautiful. I swish from side to side. Tummy sucked in, boobs out! Wow! I pop my finger in my mouth and strike a pose. Looking up, I catch a young sales man checking me out through the gap in the curtain. I quickly step out of his view feeling a blush colour my cheeks. He’s about thirty-years old and seriously attractive. I feel myself getting excited at the thought of him watching me. Grabbing a lip-gloss from my bag I quickly apply a lavish amount to my now very dry lips.
Spurred on by his attention, I begin the sexiest dress/undress routine I think I’ve ever done in my life. Knowing this young man is watching me with that lusty look in his eyes has brought me to life. The only time hubby looks at me like that is when I pass him his dinner. Slowly I begin to remove the sheer black dress I just tried, lifting it over my head and shaking my long dark locks back over my shoulders. I’m feeling like the model in the Herbal Essence shampoo ad only minus the shower.
I casually brush my hands across my chest and let my fingers linger. I look through my lashes and see him still ogling me with a look of desire on his face. I attempt to slip into the next dress, but it won’t even pull down over my boobs, I must have picked a wrong size. I step out of view quickly so he can’t see my struggle. My new found sexual confidence starts to waver!
I decide the black jeans are a better bet, so I bend over thrusting my bottom into his view and step into them, minus the heels. I start to wiggle as I pull them up my legs. I get to the knees and stop to slip the Louboutins back on for extra height and continue my wiggle all the way up. Damn! They’re also too small and are wedged beneath my buttocks that are hanging out in all their rounded glory. The jeans are now sticking to my skin on account of the veil of sweat caused by the stifling heat from the fluorescent lights and a little too much excitement for one wannabe sex siren.
With fingers hooked into the belt loops I decide to do the simultaneous pull and jump, you know the one. Disaster! I land with my heel in my handbag and fall to the ground in what feels like slow motion, grabbing at the curtain, which comes down with me.
So there I am – an unsightly heap on the floor outside the dressing with my bare ass on display to the world. To my horror, in the next dressing room is a young girl no older than eighteen or nineteen, in her underwear and with her curtain open.
Realisation Hits Me
He was watching her the whole time. What a fool, how could I have been so stupid? I’m a forty-two-year-old housewife, you’d think I’d know better. I crawl back into the now curtain-less dressing room protecting my rear view with the ripped fabric. The snotty faced assistant is of course there in a second, looking down at me like I’m a lunatic. She holds her hands out for the shoes (not to help me up) that I lost in the fall, I’m too embarrassed to do or say anything other than hand them back sheepishly without making eye contact.
Once back home with nothing but ripped jeans and a bruised ego for company, I do the only thing a girl can do in circumstances such as these – I hit the chocolate biscuits and start to prepare dinner. Well, three different dinners actually…
By Amanda Carrington ~ Desperate Housewife