Dinner Should be Enjoyed Naked

by Michelle Charpentier

  “It depends. What does he look like?”

  “He is a god. He’s Italian with curly black hair, deep brown eyes, and muscles galore. He plays racquetball three times a week and it shows in his thighs. They are massive. It makes me wet just thinking about them.”

  “So I take it you are planning on having sex with him?”

  “I’m not planning, I’m insisting even if I have to liquor him up first. If you could see his butt, you would understand immediately. Sometimes when he makes a delivery, I put heavy things on the dock so he has to bend over and pick them up. That way I can stare at his behind without him seeing me. I feel like the lecherous old men who hire the young blonde secretaries just to have someone to look at.”

  “Is that all there is, a cute butt and curly black hair? Surely there must be something else you’re interested in or you wouldn’t be putting this much time into finding the right clothes to wear.”

  “There is the muffins and coffee.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He brings me a coffee cake muffin and coffee everyday he delivers to the store. Stupid me when he first called to offer I told him no because I thought he was just being nice. I never thought he was actually interested in me. Apparently, the only reason he called ahead was to hear my voice. I’m surprised a ton of bricks didn’t come out of the phone and hit me on the head.”

  “So besides being pretty to look at he is sensitive, how nice.”

  “Snicker all you want but I’m enjoying the attention.”

  “You deserve a good man. Go find something that will knock his socks off,”

  “I plan on it, talk to you later sis.”

  With that, the phone went dead. Slipping the phone into its holder resting on my hip I start to think about coffee cake muffins. I wonder where I can get one. There must be a muffin shop in the mall. Not all of them serve coffee cake muffins though. Most people want the regular flavors like blueberry or bran. Most people are boring. Variety is supposed to be the spice of life; I don’t think most people have a spice rack. Finding a muffin will be on my list of things to do today. Right after I find the perfect dress to for sex.

  10:00 am

  I love my car. The sleek lines set it apart from an average family car. The red color pops against the leather interior, creamy in color soft and smooth to the touch. Just sitting in the driver’s seat listening to the hum of the engine puts a twinkle in my eye. The engine has more horsepower than any one person would need making accelerating exciting. You can feel the power vibrate through the driver’s seat straight up your spine. I enjoy pushing past bully drivers who leave their manners at home. Just a slight squeeze on the accelerator reminds them cuts will not allowed whether you are in line to buy concert tickets or driving down the highway. With the radio turned up, the sunroof open I head to the mall for some serious shopping.

  The unseasonably warm weather means I can leave my heavy clothing at home making it easier to try things on. Jeans, a light pullover and red snappy sandals is the perfect outfit for roaming the mall. Easy in easy out of the dressing rooms means less tears more peace of mind. Sighing heavily, I leave the comfort of my car and head for the mall entrance. Once inside, I take a moment to collect my thoughts. I’m not a shopper. I hate sharing my personal space with strangers. No matter where I walk, it always seems like someone is trying to use the same space. I can pick any empty aisle in a store and guarantee within seconds someone wants to walk down the same aisle. They never stop to look at anything on the shelves; they just want to make me move. I resent the intrusion. By the end of a short shopping experience, you can almost visualize the dark stormy clouds hanging over my head. It is a wonder the clouds don’t let loose and drown me before I leave the mall.

  Then there are the kids. I have three so it is not as if I don’t like them but really, when kids are screaming in an enclosed mall no one is enjoying themselves. You can tell the poor kids would rather be home sleeping or playing with their toys instead of cooped up in a stroller watching their mothers’ sort through clothing. The poor little people cannot even see anyone above the kneecap since their strollers sit so low. Picture yourself strapped into a stroller shoved out into traffic hoping everyone gets out of the way to let you pass. “Look out,” you yell as a sea of multicolored legs swarms around you; legs with oversized purses swinging at their sides ready to bang into the cloth stroller. No one understands your fear because no one understands baby talk. All the adults hear are cries from a fussy baby with no clue what is causing the high-pitched shrieks. Covering your face with your tiny hands, you try melting into the stroller’s cushion to avoid making any contact with the crowd. If the sea of colors does not make your eyes spin just think of the aromas at knee level. Not everyone uses the expensive perfumes you know. Some people even forget deodorant, which allows earthy smells to waif downward seemingly aimed right at your nose. With such an assault on every sense, it is no wonder kids get cranky after hours at the mall.

  With the state of the world these days you cannot even show sympathy for the kids and ask their mothers to take them home. Imagine the nasty looks you would get before the ranting starts as they defend their parenting abilities. Every parent thinks he or she knows best. I have yet to meet someone who willingly admits they have not got a clue how to raise kids. As a society, we don’t put any importance on childcare classes until someone becomes a parent and problems arise. Too bad most people cannot afford nannies. If parents would spend less on jeans and more on babysitters, we all would be happier!

  If we incorporated childcare classes in the high school curriculum, I bet the birth rate would drop dramatically. After caring for a real baby even for a short time, the wise kids would remember for a very long time how hard it is. Nannies would make a comeback since more people would wait until they could afford one before having children. Nannies would teach manners making society a better place. Maybe nannies are the way to achieve world peace.

  Coming up with ideas to bring about world peace isn’t hard to do, maybe I should move to Washington. I could open a think tank just to come up with ideas to float by the President. In the mean time, my job is to avoid babies in the mall. It is easier to avoid any store an ear piercing shrill is coming from than try to concentrate with noise echoing in your head. With any luck, I will be in and out of the mall before sensory overload destroys their world.

  10:30 am

  So far so good, I’m in the mall and not a stroller in sight. Cautiously, I look to the right then scan to the left just to make sure all is clear. Farther down the mall, I can barely make out the shape of a double stroller turning into a clothing store. I promptly turn on my red heels and head in the other direction. Looking through the windows, I try to decide what to look for first. So what should I search for first the perfect dress or to die for shoes? I’d better start with the dress. As long as I get the right dress, I can grab a pair of plain shoes if I run out of time or in my case an inclination to shop. I need to keep my eye on the prize- a fantasy dinner with a sexy man who wants to spend time with me. Confidently, I step into the nearest dress boutique waiting for inspiration to strike. Scanning the racks, I notice the colors this year all seem to revolve around three degrees of dark; brown, browner, and black. The cloth seems void of color before they cut the pattern. Out of curiosity, I check the price tag of a simple black slip like dress and nearly pass out! $200 for a piece of fabric void of any personality let alone one that is only fit to be worn in the tropics. There was not enough fabric to keep a breeze from blowing right through you. I can just picture how someone would look wearing that itsy bitsy piece of cloth when the temperature falls below seventy degrees. First would be the insulated stockings to keep your legs warm. Next, you would need a woolen slip to keep your special places from feeling the cold air. It is hard enough to find someone you have chemistry with; it would definitely put a damper on things if you had to knock icicles off your pubic hair before foreplay was possible. Finally, an ankle length coat would fin
ish the outfit ensuring any man asking you out would definitely be interested in your mind since it would take hours of disrobing to see your body. I don’t mind showing some skin, I mind paying for something that is not there. That fabric could not have cost more than ten dollars a yard making the entire dress worth around fifteen dollars. If this is what I have to choose from, I fear disappointment is waiting for me at the end of the day. Maybe a larger store will have a more reasonable selection.

  Pushing on, I head to the next store still searching for the one perfect dress that will both make me beautiful and give me the confidence to get back out into the dating world. I wonder if the Wizard of Oz has a store in this mall. Oh, lord there is a stroller up ahead. Ducking into the lingerie department, I manage to avoid contact with the little bundle of joy. Passing through the nightgowns, I feel the soft silky fabric lightly touch my forearm sending shivers across my skin. Pausing, I take a closer look at the nightgown rubbing the fabric between my fingers. I wonder if I should buy a negligee for our first night together. Normally I sleep in the nude but I don’t know what he is used to. For me slipping into something more comfortable would entail leaving all my clothes on the floor and not putting anything else on. Parading around naked might send the wrong impression. I don’t want Rick thinking I do that in front of everyone. Right now, the only living beings exposed to nudity in the home are the cats and they do not pay any attention to me. As long as I make sure they have food in their dish, I am free to do whatever I want in my own home. Cats are such magnanimous creatures. Still it wouldn’t hurt to try this one on. Standing in front of a mirror I hug the silky sheath close to my body.

  The fabric feels cool as it glides over my skin. Each step I take creates a sea of silky blue softness that winds like a minx around my calves. Stretching my arms out, I twirl around watching the nightgown balloon out around me. The warm sunshine falls on my upturned face as fresh air fills my lungs. The grass feels cool against bare feet. A field of wild flowers sprays their perfume into the air. I feel free. No worries, no cares to cause any stress. I feel just like a child again. A song swells up in my breast begging to be set free. As I part my lips to let the melody ring clear a shrill shriek hits my ears shattering my daydream. Quickly, I drop the nightgown and continue to move away from the noise.

  Continuing my quest, I finally find the dress section. Scanning each rack, I see the same scenario as the first store. Dull colors, old woman styles, nothing that shouts'" buy me and you will get laid." Instead, I hear “now dear sex isn’t everything. Just be happy someone is giving you a free meal.” I’m not in this for the meal I answer. I want adult company, intelligent conversation, and actual touching. I crave kisses, hugs, lingering looks, foreplay and yes sex. I’m almost fifty years old; old enough to admit aloud what I want without being embarrassed. The only embarrassing part would be if someone caught me talking to a rack of dresses. Then I might be considered a bit loony which could get me a night at the nearest mental ward. Best to keep thoughts to myself before someone calls security. I smile at the sales clerk passing by as I turn to leave the store. I hope that the next store will have something I can work with. I have to try something on at least so the trip isn’t a total waste of time. Hopefully, the dresses look better on me than on the rack.

  Slowly, I wander down the mall scanning possible stores to enter. If I had more estrogen, maybe this would not be so difficult. I find all this searching tedious. A quick check of my watch tells me I need to step it up. It’s closing in on twelve o’clock and I still don’t have anything accomplished. Standing in front of another dress boutique a sigh escapes my lips. I must take this next store seriously. I will try on dresses. I will pick one out. I will pay for it and be happy. If I repeat this mantra enough times, I just might believe it. Visualize and it will come true I chant silently. With eyes closed, I imagine walking over to a rack with many beautiful dresses. I see myself picking out four to try on.

  As I turn to walk to the dressing room, a voice breaks through. “Excuse me,” a woman says as she pushes by in an attempt to enter the store. I move out of the way after realizing I’m standing in the middle of the doorway. I hate people who do that and now I have become one. I should be more sympathetic next time someone blocks my path. Quite possibly, they are having the same doubts about shopping that I am. It’s time to stop hesitating and get looking for something to wear.

  Entering the store, a wave of relief begins to wash over me. Color, I see color. A sea of reds, blues, greens and off whites lay before my eyes. Blinded by the shimmering sequins I feel my way deep into the racks searching for that one special dress. Surely, the dress I need is in here. Starting with the blue dresses, I scrutinize each piece for color, cut and accessories. The color has to be deep. However, not so dark I look like a ghost. Since I’m light, I need a color that won’t make me look washed out. I want the dress to fall just below the knee so I can wear heels. No bangles or baubles though. I want to add my own jewelry. After a few minutes of searching, I find five dresses to try on. I’m definitely making progress. Yippee! Heading toward the changing room, I feel a sense of accomplishment. Let us hope the momentum continues as I try these on.

  Standing in front of the mirror, I spread the dresses out for further inspection. Let us start with the blue one. I have always favored blue as a favorite color but lately as I have aged, I wear any color. It must be the first phase of aging. First, you become sort of color blind when picking out clothing, then you start talking to yourself aloud. I think the third phase starts when you give unsolicited opinions aloud to strangers. As soon as that starts, brochures to a Florida retirement home will magically appear in our mailboxes. I can picture it clearly. Communities filled with older adults wandering around in rainbow colored clothing spouting opinions to neighbors as they walked by.

  “Hey, Bill you should cut your nose hair.”

  “Sure Gladys as soon as you cover your droopy boobs.”

  “You love’m and you know it you dirty old man.”

  Schools could schedule field trips to the community to observe the effects of aging; similar to trips to the zoo. Maybe that is why the elderly live in gated communities. Just like at the zoo, the kids stand on the outside of the fence safe from the inhabitants. Older people are not in the habit of biting or throwing things at strangers but there is no sense taking any chances with these impressionable youngsters. There could be feeding stations set up along the fence line where the kids could purchase cookies to feed the friendlier oldsters. Once close to the fence, the kids can get a better look at the color combinations floating around the grounds. At the same time, teachers can give lectures on the importance of staying mentally fit so they never mix pink and purple clothing with stripes and checks.

  Taking a deep breath, I reach for the first dress. It falls over my head landing nicely on my shoulders. The v-neck hugs the girls nicely, showing just enough cleavage. The length is good, but I don’t like the sleeves. They are too puffy. A quick glance in the side mirror shows a good looking behind. All those minutes spent on the trampoline pays off. High tight buns just round enough to give a curvaceous shape but not big enough to block the doorway. Too bad the sleeves are not right. Alterations are a possibility but I don’t have time. I need to look fabulous right off the rack. Moving on, I look at the next dress.

  Bright vibrant yellow washes over my body like sunshine on a summer’s day as the fabric flows around me. Sounds like a feminine product commercial. Wear this dress and be free from cramps all day long! Think of the money you could make if wearing a yellow dress really cured menstrual cramps. Every girl would get a yellow frock on her 13th birthday in preparation for woman hood. It would also make it easier for men to know how to plan dates. If his date shows up wearing a yellow outfit, then he would know certain activities would be out of the question. If he canceled the date after seeing yellow, the woman would know he was a rat right up front. He either only wanted sex or automatically assumed the date would be a threesome; he
, she and PMS. I will file that for future reference. There might be a patent in there somewhere.

  As I wrap the green dress around me, visions of being trapped in an evergreen forest flash before my eyes. The long sleeves fall just past my wrists encroaching on my palms making my fingers look like tiny twigs sprouting from a tree branch. Slowly spreading my fingers as wide as possible resembles new spring growth reaching for the warm sunshine. Instead of fingernails, I envision pink buds ready to explode releasing delicate white flowers. The green fabric falls midway between the knees and ankles; my legs becoming the tree trunk. Toes wiggling, I bury them in the thick carpet as if they were roots digging deep in the dirt to securely anchor them. Feeling the soft breeze on my face, triggers a swaying motion deep inside. Back and forth, my body rocks as if following the movement of the wind. Arms stretch overhead feeling the gentle pull of the wind currents. In the distance, a bluebird sings the sweet song of summer. A soft buzzing in the distance breaks through the lilting melody. It sounds vaguely familiar. Buzz, buzz, buzz, the noise gets closer to my ear yet I cannot quite place where I have heard it before. A dull thump in the middle of my forehead brings me out of the forest and back to reality. To my left I notice a fly buzzing around on the floor, its wings flapping rapidly as it tries to get back in flight. Reaching my hand up to my forehead, I notice a bright red spot spreading across my skin. Great, now I will have to make sure I have concealer on hand just in case this does not fade. This date is getting more complicated as the day goes on. Looking up to the ceiling, I silently wonder what I have done to earn this aggravation. Sighing I get back to picking out the perfect dress.

  Next up is a chocolate brown sheath that falls in a rectangle around my body, landing just below my knees. Small sparkling spots dotted the fabric in what looks like a random pattern. Turning from side to side to see every angle in the mirror one thought comes to mind, pretzel. Well I’ll be dipped, I look like a pretzel. The sparkles look like salt sprinkles. A large pink tongue emerges