How I found my Poise

I am about to run out of Poise, both the product and the attitude. So, I slip into my shoes, grab my keys, and make an emergency run to the store. To make the mad dash worth my while I reward myself with a bottle of wine.

When I approach the diaper aisle from the dairy section, I see him sneak in from the opposite end. Being curious, I watch him approach, assuming he’ll stop at the small people diapers; he looks young enough. But he keeps walking and passes behind me. So, he is on his way to get milk, I conclude and forget about him till I realize he is standing next to me, perusing the men’s version of Poise.

I side-eye him and smile wryly when I realize he is watching me.

“Our favorite aisle, right?” I smirk.

He blushes. “I’m new at this.” he confesses.

“You realize that this is not the same as asking if the melon is ripe or what to do with artichokes, right?”

He looks stunned for a second then bursts out laughing. “Right.” He snorts then sobers. “But why not?”

I lean against the shelves, cross my arms, and raise my eyebrows. “Anatomy.”

He copies my stance and grins. “What about it?”

“Don’t pass this around among your buddies, but girls and boys are made differently.” I say.

He sucks in his lower lip, widens his eyes. “How?” he whispers.

I look behind me and make sure there is no one lurking behind his back. One more time over my shoulder then I make a circle with my index finger and thumb of my right hand and push my left index finger through the circle.

He laughs. It is my turn to blush.

“If I pay for that wine,” he nods toward the bottle in my basket, “will you cook dinner for me? Maybe you could teach me about the stuff I’m not to tell my buddies.” He winks.

I consider this while I looked him over. There is grey at the temples and more sprinkled among his dark hair. But his skin is still firm, maybe some softening around the jaw line. His laughing brown eyes have creases radiating from the edges, giving him an impish look. His six-foot frame looks firm, probably from regular visits to a gym. His worn jeans are molded on him as is his t-shirt.

“Me, cook?” I feign horror while my heart speeds up and I hold my breath. It has been so long since anyone has flirted with me. It is a lovely spring-like afternoon, I remind myself, and decide I am going to flirt right back and have fun. Just this one afternoon I will live as if it is 1999. Mentally I scoff, better suspend all reality and live as if it is 1994, or even further back.

“Okay.” I straighten. “Let’s go shopping.”

In the parking lot I give him my address. Who am I? Why would I give a total, though cute and charming, stranger my address?

I chop, sauté, caramelize, reduce, add stuff to taste and simmer. Then I take a shower. When I turn to the mirror I freeze.

Nu huh! No way!

I lean closer. No softly wrinkled skin, no interesting, but tell-tale grey streak in my hair, no droopy eyelids. And no, or at least barely noticeable sagging body parts. As if I am forty-something again.

I am dreaming, right? This is not real, right?

But my make-up drawer still has make-up, my pill drawer is devoid of pills. My closet is full of clothes that are several sizes smaller and easily considered vintage.

Why am I not panicking? Why am I feeling excited?

I briefly, almost clinically, wonder where all my pull-on stretch jeans and XXL sweaters are. I reach for one of my old favorites, a red, slinky knit dress.

Then I turn back to the mirror. Yes, Mamma! My forties were wasted on me. I can do this!

As I walk by the window, I see a ’92 corvette pull in the parking spot. I stop and watch for a minute till I see him climb out, a bemused smile on his face. He looks good, really good, in fitted jeans and a soft silk shirt under a long black coat. I decide not to take the ice cream out of the freezer. We might not get to that, tonight.

“Hello.” His eyes drag from my face down my body and back up as soon as I open the door. “You look … delicious.”

“Thank you.” We drink in the moment, knowing we are out of step with time, savoring this magic gift.

“Come in. Will you put on some music?” I point to the stereo that wasn’t there earlier. “while I put the last touches to dinner.”

“I will, in a minute.” He murmurs ashe dips his head and touches his lips to mine. Just a kiss, no other touch. A promise. With a shiver I kiss him back.

I set the table, stir the sauce, and brown the veal. He stands close behind me, his hands lightly on my waist, sliding over my hips, pulling me closer. His breath skims over my neck, evoking a sensuous shudder.

“Pour the wine, please?” I pant, trying not to become too distracted and ruin our dinner at the last moment.

We sit across from each other, Seal serenading in the background. We talk and laugh about little things and nothing. Our fingers touch now and then, our eyes meet often, our feet play under the table. He refills our glasses but doesn’t sit down after he puts the bottle back. He reaches for my hand, we dance. Without words. Without jokes. Without overused compliments.

He holds me, I melt into him.

“Do you want coffee, dessert?” I whisper when the cd started over again.

No, coffee. But for dessert ...” His voice trailed off to a warm breath ghosting across my cheek. Smiling, I lead him into the bedroom and close the door.