Earlier, I had worn this very sexy outfit.
A short, electric blue dress with leggings and high heeled boots. Big gold hoops. Oh, how I love big gold hoops. I will never have refined taste. But sexy—I can sometimes do that.
We were out. I crossed my legs and looked flirty.
We got back, the rest of the Sunday was supposed to be lazy, because of the rain. But then Bear wanted to go to Prospect Park and see the blossoming trees. We’d missed them last year, and he was determined.
“But it’s cold…” I said.
“Put on some warm clothes,” he said.
I put on these ancient bellbottoms that I inherited from a friend who realized that they were never going to be fashionable again. They didn’t used to fit. They were so big on me. Now all of my other jeans pinch meanly, in tender places. So I pulled the big, flopping bellbottoms on. And the brown sneakers I try never to wear. And an expressionless long-sleeved shirt.
“Oh, wow,” said Bear, coming into the bedroom. “You look so hot. What a great outfit.”
I looked at him for a long moment. “Are you serious?”