Message Delivered

I always hate the way that I look right out of the shower. My wet hair plastered to my scalp, my 30-year-old breasts bulging as I stand naked. The stretch marks of approximately 15 years of destructive hormones and anxious eating scar my belly, my love handles sitting atop my waist and the cellulite of my inner thighs kissing each other intimately. I wish I could have a relationship that has lasted as long as the relationship between my inner thighs. Maybe then I wouldn't have to waste my time on useless dating apps, attending date after mundane date with men who only go out with me because I have huge boobs and a nice ass. 

Why are bathrooms set up with the shower positioned right across from the counter and the mirror that just so happens to be the size of the entire wall? That way when you open the shower curtain it's like the grand opening of Fuck you, let me remind you that you're not 21 anymore, AND that gravity is a thing! And the lighting?! What the fuck? My skin has never looked so blotchy, uneven and, holy shit, is that a wrinkle? No way. Get me out of here.

My 'getting ready' routine is always the same. After my shower, I comb my hair with detangling spray because with these curls? That is a necessity. Then a curling cream because, my curls just seem to get flatter and flatter as I age. When I was 17 I had a thick, vivacious Shirley Temple curly hair down to my waist and let me tell you, did people envy that. I've always loved my hair, but recently it's become a chore to try to make it have any kind of texture resembling a corkscrew. 

20 minutes later, thank God that is over. As my hair dries, I saunter into my room and plop my flabby ass down in front of my makeup vanity. 

"Hey, Google, play Spotify." My Google switches on to the last station that I was listening to. The Doors? Nah, not feeling that. "Hey, Google, next song." Ariana Grande? Fuck no. "Hey, Google. Play Dean Lewis radio." My Google thinks, beeps several times, and the familiar tune of the song 'Waves' comes on. I nod. This'll do.

Lotion. Shit. I forgot lotion. Back to the unforgiving lighting of the bathroom. My skin screams "thank you," as I prance back into my bedroom, this time, feeling myself a little bit more of a queen. This time, Wrabel's "Poetry" soars through the air and I find myself closing my eyes and singing along. My hair has begun to dry into the curly-cues that I remember, and the hairspray has helped set them nicely as I tousle my curls to break them apart, assuring that they hold their shape. Alright, let's try this again. Back at my makeup vanity I switch on the lamp to illuminate my naked face. First thing's first. Toner. Then moisturizer. That is a woman's best friend and, at my age, I have a collection of face creams and moisturizers in order to attempt to keep my face resembling something like skin rather than a 5-year-old pair of leather gardening gloves. Done. And now? Foundation. I don't tend to use foundation on a daily basis but today? Nah, fuck it. Not today. Why change my routine? If he likes me, then cool. If not, ah well.

*BEEP*

My phone vibrates aggressively against the wooden tabletop of my makeup vanity, startling me. I swipe up on the screen and it's a message from my date. "Hey, beautiful. Does 3:00 still work for you?" the text reads. What time is it? Oh fucking shit. It's already 2:02. I scramble to pick up the phone and frantically scrawl, "Hi, hey, hello! Of course it does! I'll see you in just a bit! Where are we meeting again?" Jesus, chill out with the exclamation points. Before I can put the phone down another message comes through. "Haha WOW! Speedy response! The Grapevine Café, silly!"

Silly?! Who the fuck are you calling "silly?" Also, he used just as many exclamation points as I did. Okay. I see you. 

"Perfect. See you at 3:00, you eager beaver." I debate which flirty emoji to put, but before I do, he beats me to it. It was exactly the one I would have chosen. You know, the one with the winky eyes and the tongue sticking out? And the words, "Can't wait!" 

Okay. Fucking FOCUS! I glance at the clock again. 2:09 Jesus. You've just wasted 7 minutes deciding on a damned emoji. Foundation? No we decided to nix that. I basically throw my makeup on my face like it's damned sunscreen. This is fine, right? Sure. Eyeliner time. Watch your eye, oh God, watch your eye, don't stab your - Fuck that hurt. I wallow in pain for a few moments, blinking several times. And we're moving on. I tousle my hair back and forth. Good, it's drying quickly. Winged eye-liner? I check the time once more. 2:15. Absolutely no time. Mascara time, it is. This part always goes smoothly. I glide the wands over my lashes in swift, smooth motions, elongating my lashes to give the illusion that I have larger eyes. And we're done. Wow, beauty is pain. I wish I hadn't taken so much time scrutinizing my body in the mirror out of the shower. Then again, who would I be if I didn't? I take a cotton q-tip and clean up mascara smudgies from below my eyes and my eyelid. 

Time check. 2:22. I make a mental timeline in my head. It'll take me 13 minutes to get to the café, which leaves me exactly 25 minutes to get dressed. Plenty of time.

Or so I thought. I thought I had an idea of what I was going to wear. My favorite pair of jeans that hug my curves in just the right places and the red top I just bought two weeks ago for Michelle's birthday dinner. It's cut low enough to reveal just enough cleavage, but not to expose too much of the girls. I grab my jeans and top and throw them on my bed. I rifle through my underwear drawer to find a matching pair of bra and panties because, you know, you always feel sexier when you match, even if nobody sees them. I squeeze my ass into my jeans, pulling ferociously on the belt loops around my thighs and ass only to hear a loud RIIIIPPPPP. Fuck. I close my eyes for a moment and tilt my head towards the ceiling in disbelief of the tragedy that just took place. I look down and see that I have torn an entire belt-loop off of my jeans, leaving a giant, gaping hole in the hip of my favorite pair of jeans. What is option #2? I don't have one. Shit.

Back to square one. I rush into my closet to grab my second favorite pair of jeans. They are not where they should be; folded neatly in the third drawer of my dresser. What the fuck? Where are you? I pull every pair of pants out of the drawer, shaking them to reveal their true identify, discarding them haphazardly onto the floor. They're not here. Damn. Then I remember that I wore them the other day when I went to the store. Why the fuck would I wear those to the store when I would need them right at this very moment? To the hamper! I rummage around in my dirty laundry basket and, luckily they're there, only a hoodie and t-shirt sitting on top. I do the quintessential sniff test. Yup. They're adequate. I throw them onto my body and rip my shirt down over my head. I turn and face my mirror. I stare for a moment, adjusting my shirt down nicely over my breasts, and giving one more firm tug on my jeans when I notice something. 

Oh no. What is that? I strain to look in the mirror. Is that a fucking STAIN?! On my new shirt?! UGH. I pull it over my head and scramble back into my closet. I pull apart hangers, investigating every top, every blouse that I own. No. No. Abso-fucking-lutely not. Maybe? Eh, no. No. I finally just give up. My Google is now playing some artist that I do not recognize. Whatever.

I move to the opposite side of my closet where I keep my dresses. It's early May and the average daily temperature is in the 60s. I can pull off wearing a dress, today, right? "Hey, Google. What's the temperature outside?" She responds, informing me that the temperature is 73 degrees. Fuck yes! A dress it is! I tear my jeans off for the second time and grab my favorite spring-time dress. It's floral and a little fancy, but I can always dress it down with a pair of Keds and a jean jacket.

2:36. I'm finally dressed! I head back to the bathroom and aggressively brush my teeth. Gargling mouthwash I nearly choke. I spit into the sink and glare at myself in the mirror. Wow, I would have hated to have had to call poison control if I had swallowed that mouthwash. But that might have made for a good excuse to get out of this date that I just know will be a bust. Maybe it's not too late to cancel?

I pick up my phone and swipe up. One missed call. It was him. Before I can call him back, *BEEP* "I'm running late, lovely. Should be there around 3:15 at the absolute latest. Can't wait to see you, cutie." PHEW. Oh my God! Now I have PLENTY of time. I plop down on my couch to take a few deep breaths. Goddamn that was a struggle. I need a drink. I walk over to the fridge and pull out the last mini bottle of Sutter Home Pink Moscato from the 4-pack that I bought the night prior, twist open the cap and take a big glug. I exhale heavily and begin to relax, feeling the wine warm my insides as it travels into my stomach, easing my anxiety. 

Maybe I should just leave now and beat him there. That way I'm not awkwardly looking for him? I pull my Keds on and thrust my purse over my shoulder. Wallet, purse, phone, what am I missing? I look around my foyer aimlessly, rummaging through my purse with one hand, and scanning my kitchen countertops, patting my non-existent pockets like, pfft, I'm not wearing jeans, what the hell am I doing? I take the last several swigs of my drink and have a revelation.

Fucking keys. I look to the hooks screwed crookedly into the wall by my door. Ah-ha. I grab them and exit my apartment, locking the door behind me with the familiar clunk and chink of the bronze in the keyhole. It's only 2:42. I still have more than half an hour to get to our meeting place. I get in my noble steed of a 1999 Toyota Corolla, roll down the driver's side window, pull my mock Ray Bans off my visor and place them on my face. Oh, where the hell is this place? I pull out my phone and type in the address of the Grapevine Café. It comes up in no time and I click "start" on my navigation. It informs me that there is road construction and a detour, which will take me several minutes out of the way. Okay, no problem. I still have plenty of time.

The drive was easy. I am fairly familiar with my town, but have never been to this particular café. I have lived here for several years and I work on this side of town, I'm not sure how I haven't even seen it before. I pull into the parking lot and park with a clear view of the front entrance. It looks cute with bronze grapevines draped around the door handles, big wooden doors and the words "Grapevine Café" scrawled across the face of the building. I like this place already. I quickly snap a photo of my smiling face. I make sure to angle it just right so that my date can see what I'm wearing, too. I queue up the photo and caption it, "This is what I'll be wearing. I'll be inside. Do you want me to order you anything?" I tilt my rear-view mirror towards my face and check my appearance once more. My hair is now completely dry and I give it one last tousle, retwisting some of the curls that had become unruly in my haste to leave my house. 

I step out of my car, cross the parking lot and enter the establishment. The music is playing far too loud and I wonder if I'll even be able to hear my date whenever he tries to speak to me. Maybe he chose this place on purpose so that he doesn't have to listen to me when I speak? I scan the place to look for anyone who might look familiar on the off-chance that he lied about running late and that he may have beaten me here. Nobody I recognized. 

I ordered my drink and made my way to a table somewhat off to the side of the open-concept coffee shop. It smelled of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked cookies. God I'd kill for a cookie. I check the time. 3:06. I probably have time to order one, if I really wanted…

Instead I just sit. I pull my phone out of my purse and unlock the screen. No response. Hmm….weird. Maybe he's driving. I place my phone down on the table, sit back in my chair and cross my legs. I stare out the window into the parking lot, hoping to see a car pull in. Nothing. 

Several minutes pass and it's now 3:14. This man has less than 1 minute to arrive. "3:15 at the absolute latest," my ass. I open up Facebook and begin scrolling. Congratulations, Maggie. You're pregnant for what? Like the 9th time? I keep scrolling. Oh, my friend is playing a show tomorrow night at one of the bars downtown. Absolutely going to that. Maybe Kaitlyn and Chelsea will want to join me. Let me text them. 

3:24. Still no date.

3:27. No response. Should I text him? Maybe something happened. I hope he's okay? 

3:30. "Hey. I'm here. Sitting by the window to the left of the door as you walk in." Are my texts not going through? I see the words "message delivered" directly below my previous text so that I know they have gone through. Hmmm….alright.

3:32. I’m almost done with my latte at this point so I lock my phone and put it into my purse. I'll count to three and then I'll leave. 1, 2, 3. I stand up and make my way to the door. Welp…yeah that was a complete waste of my time. I knew it. At least I liked the latte. I may have to return. I push the heavy wooden doors open, having to use more force than I thought. The door swings open nearly knocking my date in the face as he was attempting to enter the building. 

"Oh, shit. Hi." He says, sheepishly. Trying to shake off the fact that I had nearly assaulted him with a heavy, wooden door. He was tall. Taller than his photos suggested and his icy blue eyes pierced my soul. He was broad and I could smell his cologne. It was pungent, but carried the aroma of cedar, lemongrass, and a hint of aftershave. He was sexier than hell and I was instantly smitten. 

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't expecting this door to have so much uumpf." I step back from the doorway. 

"Mason. Hi," He holds the door open with his back and holds his hand out to me. "I'm so sorry I didn't call you. I was in a rush to leave and I ended up forgetting my phone at home. I'm not too familiar with this side of town and the construction got me all turned around. But I'm here now!"

I look down at his extended hand and gingerly place my hand in his. I smile and gaze at him in the eyes. "Hi. Yeah I ended up being late, too. I was just running back out to my car because I forgot my phone in there and I didn't want to miss a call in the event that you had tried to get ahold of me," I lied, "but, since you're here, I suppose I don't really need it, huh?" I realized that my hand is still in his and before I could pull it away, Mason gives it a quick squeeze and allows the door to close behind him, now having stepped into the building. We're now very close, and he towers over me, my eyes barely reaching his nipples. I gaze up into his face once more, and allow him to lead me back into the coffee shop where I had previously hastily left, thinking I had been stood up for the umpteenth time in several months. 

We make our way back to the line to order more caffeinated beverages, our hands still locked. He has now interlaced his fingers within mine and he stares down at me, giving my hand another little squeeze. I can feel his eyes on me and I can feel my cheeks turning beet-red. I take a breath and count to three.

1, 2, 3…`