Confessions of an Alli Cat

❮Chapters ❯

I stare at him. “I don’t know. Do you promise that I’ll like it? And that it will fit?”

He nods, his eyes sparkling.

“Oh, I promise…both that you will love it and that it will fit.”

“Hmm. Okay. I can’t say no to that, then.”

He smiles, satisfied.

“Perfect. I’ll see you Friday. Dream about me.”

“Okay.” I grin at his cockiness.

He leaves and I close my eyes.

Lo and behold, later that night when I finally go to sleep after Sophie returns home, I do dream about him.

And they aren’t PG-13 dreams, either.

********

My vagina has decided that she hates me.

This much is true and apparent.

I wake up with my crotch still on fire. Sort of. It’s okay, really, until it rubs against something. Like fabric or a chair or a sheet or anything at all. It’s a little inconvenient since I can’t go to work naked.

I groan as I step into the shower, imagining the day I’m going to have.

And then I scream as the hot water runs down over my vag. It may as well be boiling.

Cold water!

My brain is screaming at me and I fumble with the water, turning it all the way over to cold. Which of course leaves me screaming and hopping as I try to adjust it to a tepid temperature that I can actually stand in while I wash my hair.

All the commotion, of course, brings Sophie running into my bathroom.

“Are you alright?” she shouts. “Did you fall?”

“I’m fine!” I call back. “Just had a surge of hot water scald me to death. It’s fine. Go get ready for school. But hey- can you put the tea kettle on the stove on your way back through the kitchen?”

“Okay,” she answers, already turning around. Her concern for my well-being is overwhelming. I could have first degree burns in here and she wouldn’t care.

I’m going to be a bitch today. I can already tell. It’s just one of those days.

I take the shortest shower in the history of mankind, then towel off before I pad to the kitchen and make a cup of tea with six teabags. I dunk them a few times, then lay them on a saucer to cool, just as I watched Shade do it last night.

I return to my room and pull on a black pencil skirt, and a hot pink silk blouse. I have the perfect pair of heels to match it. By this time, my tea bags have cooled enough, so I shove my skirt up to my waist, lay flat on my back on my bed and cover my crotch with the wet bags.

Ahhhhhhh. If my vagina had a nirvana, this might be it. Well, this would be its Nirvana today, anyway. My vagina is sort of a fickle little thing.

I am remembering how Shade carefully arranged the bags for me last night, his long fingers moving them around just so, when I hear a rushed voice.

“Hey, mom, I need some money for lunch—“

Sophie bursts into my room and skids to a stop, her look a priceless cross between horror and shock. I’m sure it mirrors my own. I scramble to sit up and yank my skirt down, and as I do, the wet tea bags scatter on the white carpet of my bedroom.

I’m not sure what to do first, pick them up before they stain or try to explain to my daughter what she just saw.

“Um.” I bend to yank the bags up and Sophie shakes her head.

“You are so weird, mom.”

And she walks back out.

“There’s money in my wallet!” I call to her.

No answer.

I’ve probably scarred my kid for life.

I grab my cell phone and text Sara.

I so hate you right now.

I jog down the hall and get a sponge, then clean up the tea spots on my carpet. Because of this whole debacle, which has all stemmed from Sara, I only have a few minutes to throw some makeup on and yank a brush through my hair. I have a meeting first thing this morning and I can’t be late because I’m pretty sure Alex will be sitting in.

I decide against wearing stockings or even panties today. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I can’t have anything touching my girl. I just can’t. If I weren’t in so much pain, I would feel naughty for going to work sans panties.

As it is, I just feel grumpy. When I get in my car, I carefully arrange Brazilian Baldy so that she’s not rubbing against my seat. My phone buzzes. It’s Sara.

That was your vagina talking, not you. You love me. You have to. Because I know all of your secrets.

I sigh. She has a point.

Fine. My vagina hates you, I answer.

I don’t even have time to stop and get coffee on the way to work, which definitely doesn’t bode well for my day.

As I breeze past Taylor, I growl, “I need coffee.”

She takes one look at my face and scrambles to her feet, presumably to find me some. I love that girl. She knows me so well. And also, she doesn’t want to put up with me sans caffeine. I know that much is true because I don’t want to put up with me sans caffeine either.

“Alli,” she calls from behind me, but I ignore her. I’m so not in the mood for anything right now until I have imbibed at least two cups.

“I’m not in the mood yet,” I call back as I open my office door.

I’m not usually such a bitch, but a raw crotch will do that to a person.

I stalk into my office and stop.

Alex is sitting casually on the couch, his legs propped up while he reads the Wall Street Journal. I stare. He glances up. He’s got two cups from a local coffee house sitting next to him. He is wearing black pinstripe slacks and a white button-up. He looks fresh and handsome and it’s apparent that he is certainly not suffering from a raw crotch.

And holy shit. Sara was right. It definitely depends on who is wearing the button-up as to how boring it is.

This white-button up is not boring at all. When it is stretched across two strong shoulders like that, how could it be boring?

Alex smiles.

It’s a beautiful smile that makes the corners of his gorgeous eyes crinkle.

“I took a chance and guessed that you like Kona coffee,” he says cheerfully, handing me one of the cups. “Sugar and cream. I’m sorry if it’s not right.”

“Bless you,” I say as I grab the cup greedily from his fingers. I restrain myself from gulping it down in two swallows. Instead, I sip it like a lady. A lady who has been wandering in the desert for two weeks and is ready to die from thirst, that is.