I'm Sorry For The Mess, The Stupid Way I'm Dressed, I Guess I Failed My Test
I heard Patrick say that while driving home. I had to get home quick. Not only was it my 21st birthday, but Greg had left a message to come over straight from class in order to give me my "special" present. I had been asking Eeyore what I should wear over to Greg's place and he had given the humorous suggestion of wearing only a raincoat there. Providence knows I'm no stranger to acting impulsively--master mooner, remember?--but the whole flashing milieu seemed too juvenile even for me.
"I am not going to show up there wearing only a coat, darling, no matter how funny you think it will be..."
Twenty minutes later as I was putting on the raincoat I began to wonder to myself if it still was a good idea. I knew Greg would think it was sexy and it definitely would be worth it to see the look on his face. But a part of me thought it might be crossing a line into indecency. I still wanted him to think of me as being ladylike and graceful, diminutive and dainty. In other words, I wanted him to see me as someone he had to work hard to be worth my company. Throwing myself at him in such a fashion perhaps might have sent the wrong message.
In the end, though, I decided that we were far enough in the relationship to spice things up a bit. Besides, if he was going to be with me for any extended period of time he would have to get used to this side of me. Most people who meet me in most circumstances I appear to be cordial and well-mannered; but there are quite a few who have seen the wildcat behind the tabby cat facade. When I want to do something woe betide anyone who gets in my way.
As I cinched up the belt I remembered the words that Patrick had said when he finally realized that he had convinced me. "It's funny how on your birthday you wind up naked, Breannie. It's like some sort of tradition with you." And the more I thought about it, the more it seemed to be a prophetic statement. First, my fifteenth birthday, then my eighteenth, and then my twenty-first; I seem to have the urge to don my birthday suit every three years on my birthday. Chalk it up to coincidence, but there's a good chance come age 27 I'll be streaking down the highway.
I made good time to Greg's townhouse, bottle of wine in one hand and a huge, mischievous grin on my face. I knocked on the front door and it swung wide open. I stepped inside the darkened living room and closed the door behind me.
"Hello! Greg? Hello!"
I had started to undo the belt of my raincoat, expecting him to walk down the stairs from his bedroom or out from the kitchen door. It's a good thing that I hadn't undone the belt all the way otherwise the next moment would have been more of a disastrous mess than it had turned out to be.
"I've got a surprise for you, Breasy. Guess who's having dinner with us."
Out from the kitchen door came Greg, my parents, and then a couple who, with my luck that day, could only be Greg's parents. It seems Greg had arranged a surprise get-together in honor of my birthday. And silly 'ole me had chosen that day of all days to get frisky. The look of awe, shock, and amusement on the various parties in the room made for one awkward moment. To be kind, no one said anything about my choice of attire, even though it was quite plain what exactly I didn't have on that day--namely, everything but the raincoat. And I muddled through as best as I could, but the shock and embarrassment proved almost too much for me to bear. I wanted to excuse myself and get up to get some of Greg's clothes, but I think that would only have called attention to the situation. As long as they didn't want to broach the subject I sure as shinola didn't want to put it out there. It was a case of pink elephants, as long as nobody brought up the subject we could almost forget it existed.
So maybe I wasn't quite naked on that particular birthday, yet I challenge you to find another birthday that I was ever more embarrassed to be wearing the ensemble I had chosen to wear that day.