Once upon a time…

So tonight this guy that I could possibly like REALLY like is coming over. It takes him an hour to get here. OMG WHAT AM I GOING TO DO HOW AM I GOING TO HANDLE THIS WHAT IF HE TRIES TO TOUCH ME OR GOD FORBID ACTUALLY STARTS TO LIKE ME. I raid the medicine cabinet and pop a Klonopin. That should do it. I mean, like, it’s for anxiety. I’ve got this. It’s all good.

Bev shoots me a text from the freezer.

Bev: Just one K? C’mon dude. It’ll take an hour to kick in and he’ll be knocking at your door by then. And you’re on the lowest dose. Let me help you.

Me: Bev, I’m fine. Don’t worry. I totes appreciate you looking out for me though.

Bev: Don’t you want to not worry about anything? Just let loose?! Have an amazing night? Be your true self? Just give me ONE kiss. That’s it. JUST ONE. J J ;-)

Me: Ugh, fine. BUT ONLY ONE.

Tonight Bev is dressed in this beautiful aroma of cinnamon. She tells me not to “water her down” and just to put her in a small glass and toss her back for the good luck kiss.  Ready…set…GO!

IT BURNS! MY MOUTH MY FACE MY THROAT MY BODY IS ON FIRE. STOP DROP AND ROLL!

Okay, I’ve survived. The burn was quick. Not so bad. I get another text.

Bev: Have you eaten today?

Me: Not since earlier, why?

Bev: You should probably give me another kiss. Get those calories in so you don’t starve.

Bev is right. I love how she looks out for me. So I give her another kiss. Maybe another. Then we’re making out. I no longer feel the burn. Where’s my phone? Is someone coming over? OH YES, that’s right. I look amazing. My hair is so soft. The candle I’m burning smells like a millllllion heavens. I don’t know what heaven smells like. If it exists I doubt I’ll end up there. Did I clean well enough? Is that dust? My hair is REALLY soft.

I get a text. He’s here. I walk toward the door to peer out and see if he’s actually found my place. Man, working with that stupid lock and doorknob was difficult. They should just make shit like that automatic.

I’m on the back porch. He’s here. I’ve got this. I must look so good under the porch light. I’m sure it brings out all of my best features. My phone vibrates.

Bev: Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!

Me: Lmao I won’t! Hahahahahaha.

I sat on the back porch, patiently waiting for his arrival. It was early evening, maybe June. I remember heat. I was trying to type something creative on my new laptop. My drink sat quietly beside me, my best friend and worst enemy. I took a sip. A gulp. I love that warmth.

I remember the neighbors being outside. Kids running up and down the street. Shouting. I thought, You know…these poor people. They don’t get life. Look at me. I’m cool. Shiny new laptop, creative juices flowing, 80 proof flowing. I’ve got my shit together…I was/am delusional.

I think I was starting a story about sisters who were serial killers. Wait, I just found it. I guess it was more of an idea:

Cecelia and Anna Marie Fitzpatrick are sisters. Best friends. Partners in crime…literally. Both are secretively serial killers. They’ve lived double lives. Jointly, they’ve claimed more than twenty victims, and they aren’t planning to stop anytime soon.

Lol. What was I doing?

I notice that the neighbors smoke often. They probably wonder why different guys come and go from my apartment and why I frequently look like I’ve been run over by a bus.

I remember refilling my beverage, my bev. Let’s call her Bev. Maybe this was #4? It was around 7pm, so that was probably an accurate guess at how many times Bev and I had danced. I definitely visited the bathroom numerous times to check myself in the mirror. I think I looked decent. I mean, I didn’t really believe it but Bev told me I looked like a fucking god. I took the compliment.

I think he arrived around 7:30. It was nice to meet him. Sure, come into my apartment. I’ve never met you in person and I’ve been chatting with you on an app. Bev approves.