Heels

heels

So I got early. I always get early in these things. I do not know why. When I try to know I get distracted with another thought. Until I find myself being early to another meeting. And everything I had thought of, I forgot.

This one meeting was in a bar on top of a bookstore. I made that my excuse for being early. This was new. I felt mature for discovering I can make excuses for myself—I didn’t know I could do that and it felt as if I opened a gift that was badly wrapped by me.

So I did. And I was dating this guy and I left home without caring too much what I looked like. Because when you’re as hot as I am, you don’t want to make anyone jealous. I’d date myself if it weren’t because I don’t have mirrors at my place—so I don’t really know what I look like anyway.

Now there is the sound of my alarm being all like it’s time you meet the dude you don’t know anything about. But he’s like 15 minutes late, so. I just make myself part of the decoration of the bar as any woman with class does according to what we are told. I try not to reveal too much of what I am while thinking

I am so mature

and he enters the coffee-book-shop-store with no rush. Almost without noticing he is 15 minutes late and I don’t tell him because he is a man with his own business and he doesn’t have time to care about my business. Also, he didn’t see me yet.

So I just stare.

And smile.

And he doesn’t recognize me at first when his eyes land on mine.

He later explained it to me. It was because I didn’t look like the picture in the cover of the book I wrote “though I am sure that with some make-up on, a blow drier and some heels, I’d have seen you and recognized you within seconds.”

And I remain quiet wondering how does he know I was wearing heels in a picture only showing a close up image of my face.

I look at my feet and I have a heel nailed to each foot through my skin.