Categories: uncategorized
Date: 13 October 2004 20:59:32
All day long, I'd been... simmering.
It's not that big a deal. I understand the "crashing surf" pattern of my middle-aged hormones. It's no shock to me, that on some days I take a lot more notice of men, and they seem to take a lot more interest in me. It's the surge of regard that comes during ovulation, I think. No doubt husbands throughout the ages have benefitted from the... um... warmth that comes with a woman's most fertile days.
I was in my little office at my temp job, answering questions, routing calls, etc. Looking up through my eyelashes at the men at the sign-in window. Smiling at their humorous comments, resisting the urge to wink. (It wasn't easy. A saucy little wink accomplishes a lot. I just didn't want to use it while I'm hormone-loaded. Like shooting ducks with a bazooka... wink wink wink...)
I was feeling pretty darned attractive. Sexy even. And I was enjoying it to the hilt! Of course I find myself wearing a bit more low-cut, clingy shirt than usual on those days... little black T-shirt, black overalls, black lace-up sandals contrasting with my little white feet, my scarlet nail polish providing some color...
After a long day at work -- normally, those work days are quiet, a bit dull, but because of the unusual viewpoint the hormones give me, it had been a very interesting day indeed -- Anyway, end of the day I went to mother-in-law's house to decipher her CD player for her. While there, since I was hungry, I grabbed and nuked myself a broccoli/egg/cheese pastry from the freezer. (So far so good. After all, one should never grocery-shop while hungry. Go in with an appetite and you never know what you might be tempted to put in your basket.)
I then went to Wal-Mart. And of course I noticed all things testosterone-laden while there. Trust me, I try not to take myself seriously during these hormone highs. (I shouldn't worry about it, though, because if I think too seriously about myself in the throes of estrogen-laced passion, God takes me down a peg. You'll see.)
While at the store I stopped at the deli counter, and one of my co-workers showed up beside me. He stood a deliciously short distance from me-- and I turned a bit to be farther from him. Not because I wanted to -- the flesh said I should get closer! But because it was a good thing to not be too close, I shifted a bit as we talked.
Oh, he looked good, standing there. I kept my mind on my own man -- no fantasies about other men for me, right? *snort* -- but I noticed my friend from work, yes I did, standing there in his snug jeans and his boots and his crisp white shirt.
And for a moment there I thought he was... ah... noticing me. I really felt the heat, I thought. He wasn't just there for his sliced honey-roasted ham. He was there to check me out, a little voice in the back of my mind chanted, he liked standing close to me, no longer separated by a desk or a wall as on the job.
For just a split second I really felt his gaze wander over me, over my discreet little bit of cleavage showing at my not-really-too-low neckline. How nice, I started to think, to have that yummy man looking me over! I enjoyed talking with him -- a sweet and virtuous conversation, to be sure -- every word having to do with our spouses and offspring and who likes ham sandwiches. Hmmm... Mr. Co-Worker sure was appreciating my front view, I thought.
We parted. I wheeled my grocery cart on down the aisle. I felt all tingly and appreciated. How nice to be noticed, I thought.
We met againt briefly and the dairy case. I learned he hated skim milk -- who doesn't? -- and he learned that my husband insists on skim. We parted again, with a smile.
We met again briefly at the checkout stands. He made it a point to get my attention to tell me good night as he passed by. Hah! At the checkout, I was a good girl, I didn't "check out" his rear view as those jeans walked away.
I just smiled modestly and looked down to tuck my change into my purse.... then I finally saw it.
There was a great golden dollop of egg and cheese. I'd dropped it neatly along my decolletage. Like the "scrambled eggs", the golden embroidery, on a sea captain's cap. There were my scrambled eggs, glowing there on my black scoop-neck T-shirt, framing a bit of blushing bosom. What a deflation of my ego! Now I knew what he was really looking at.
Like I said -- I can't take my "sexy" self too seriously. If I am ever in danger of it, God sends me a messenger -- even eggs can deliver a message.