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Chapter Four

Sunday, July 17

You’re reflective today, thinking about past relationships and what went wrong. You’re fantasizing about a former flame who you haven’t forgotten. Time to move on. Good things await. Tonight: Pamper yourself.

My first love broke my heart. I met him my sophomore year in college and I thought we’d be together forever. I dated a lot of guys in high school, but no one seriously. I think the longest I had a boyfriend was six months. But then I met Seth and my world turned upside down. We met at his fraternity’s Halloween party. I was dressed as Thing One and my bestie Jen was dressed as Thing Two. He was dressed as a vampire and he walked up behind me as I was waiting for beer. “I want to suck your blood,” he whispered. I turned around to find dark, sexy eyes staring back at me. It wasn’t long until we became a thing.

He was two years older than me and when he graduated from college, he took a job on the West Coast. We tried to make it work for a while, but the distance was just too great. And we were living in two different worlds. Mine revolved around exams and university life. Seth’s revolved around his engineering job. But I never forgot him. He was my first true love. And, yes, sometimes I do fantasize about him. He married a California girl and I haven’t seen him in years.

I sipped my coffee and read the news on my phone. I hate Sundays, mostly because I have to go to the laundromat. Talk about fantasizing, I think I fantasize about having a washer and dryer more than I fantasize about sex. I’m not sure what that says about me. That I like clean clothes better than I like sex? Dear God I hope not.

Maybe I’ll see the guy I noticed the other week for the first time. When I went to put my clothes in the dryer he’d just finished using, I found a pair of blue silk boxers. For a breath I thought about keeping them. I have a pair of gray paisley boxers I copped from Seth. They’re so comfortable. But I decided to ask tall, five o’clock shadow with a barbed wire tattoo on his bulging bicep if they were his. His face turned cherry red but he managed a smile (straight, white teeth – a plus) and thanked me.

I should’ve continued the conversation. The guy definitely had potential, and his boxers were as sexy as hell. They were soft and slipped through my fingers. I bet they felt great on.

Victoria interrupted my fantasizing when she called to give me the details about her night with White-Button-Down-Shirt. The cliff notes were: his name is David, he’s twenty-nine and single. He’s a mechanical engineer and relocated to the area recently because of his job.

“And he’s a sneaker head,” Victoria said.

“Really?”

“Big time. He told me how when the classic Air Jordan IIIs were rereleased he was the first in line at the store in the mall.”

“I never met a sneaker head before.”

“Neither have I, but David spends more money on one pair of sneakers than I spend on food in a month.”

“That’s some serious cash.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So what did you do after you left the bar?” I asked.

“We went back to his place and talked.”

“That’s it? Just talked?”

“And we kissed – a little.”

“Talked and kissed and nothing else?”

“Well.”

“You didn’t sleep with him, did you?” I asked. “God, Victoria. You just met him.”

“I know. I wasn’t going to but then it just sort of happened.”

“But it always just sort of happens with you.”

“Not true. I didn’t sleep with that guy I met last week.”

“The redhead?”

“Yes, I didn’t sleep with him.”

“Look, it’s none of my business who you sleep with,” I said. “I just don’t want you getting hurt. You give it up too easily. Remember, you get what you allow.”

“Can we change the subject?”

“I gotta go anyway. I need to go to the laundromat and then the store.”

“What are you doing later?”

“I’m going to pamper myself,” I said. “That’s what my horoscope advised so I’m going to take a long soak in the tub.

Victoria made a noise that sounded like a sick cow. “You and your stupid horoscope. How long are you going to follow that thing anyway?”

“It’s not stupid and I don’t know. Maybe forever.”

“God, Sydney, I hope not. There’s something to be said for spontaneity. You’re neurotic enough.”

I cleared my throat. “Well, someone has to worry about things.”

“But you worry too much.

“And you don’t worry at all.”

“Okay, then, it’s a draw,” Victoria said. “Have fun doing your laundry.”

When I walked into the laundromat, I scanned the room. My tall, five o’clock shadow with a barbed wire tattoo on his bulging bicep hottie wasn’t there. Shit! I was majorly disappointed. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d hoped to see him. I tried reading the magazine I brought, but all of the articles seemed to be about sex. And when you’re not getting any, it’s depressing as hell to read about all of the ways you can make it better. What good is reading an article about foods that might increase my libido or tips for having mind-blowing orgasms when I have no special someone? And, unlike Victoria whose best friend is her pink vibrator, I’m not into using sex toys to get me off. I want the real thing. But the real thing has to be quality. Unlike Victoria who’ll screw anything that has a dick, I want a guy who has a good head – on his shoulders!

I’m seriously considering checking out the online dating scene. Maybe Frankie was right when she compared “shopping” for a guy to shopping for an appliance. If I had an apartment with washer and dryer hook-ups and I had the money to buy a washer and dryer I’d scour the internet to find the best make and model and price. I’d want the best my money could buy. So why not apply that same logic to finding a guy? I want a particular make and model, so if I go to an online “store” and stipulate what I want I might just find what I’m looking for. I’ll have to give this online dating gig some serious thought.

By the time I got home from doing laundry, I was starving. I thought about going through the drive-thru on the way home, but decided I’d better stick to my budget. My choice was eating oatmeal or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I chose the oatmeal. When you’re still paying your student loan along with car payments and rent, some nights are cheap nights.

I was just about to slip into the bath tub when Victoria called.

“Do you think I’m a slut?” she blurted.

“Where’d that come from?”

“Because I slept with White-Button-Down-Shirt.”

“No, I don’t think you’re a slut. Yes, I do think you give it up a little too easily.”

“So that means I’m a slut.”

“I didn’t say that. Look. You’re not a slut. A little on the loose side maybe. You like sex. Like a lot. I just think you need to be careful who you’re having it with. White-Button-Down seemed fine.”

“He called.”

“That’s a plus. There might be potential there.”

“Yeah. I’m not sure I like that his ass is so flat, though.”

“Victoria! You’re impossible. I have to go. My bath water’s getting cold.”

I hung up the phone and slipped into the water.