Working

I'm watching him chew his food from across the table. Well, he's not really even chewing, just kind of stuffing-and-swallowing as fast as he can.

"You know, I love watching a man eat...you can tell alot about him by the way he treats his meals...plus, watching that jaw in action is just sooo....hot..."

I'm wondering to myself if I really sounded like that. Once upon a time. Now I can feel the skin on my forehead wrinkle as I try to mask the horrified expression on my face. I struggle, managing to get by unnoticed. I guess it gets easier with time.

I'm wishing for a moment of clarity to bust through the french doors behind me, preferably in a white shining cocktail dress, stiletto heels and a bright pink feathered boa. Why? Because I wouldn't recognize it any other way.

I didn't realize I was being watched.

I wrench and ache and moan and gasp and collapse in exhaustion. There is no release or relief, only a sense of postponement.

So I wait.