![]() ![]() I make a mental note to call my trainer friend at the boxing ring. Nothing like a workout just to get dressed. Then I did about fifteen lunges to “stretch” the pants, all the while praying I didn’t bust a seam. I can only imagine what I looked like while I was sucking it in and bending backward to get the damn button closed. I’d rather be comfy in pajamas than wear these jeans that I had to lie on the bed to shimmy into. I end up smelling like a garbage can and feeling like I ate a jar of cotton balls. My best friend wants to paint the town red. I could stay home, drink a martini, and be happy. Nicole’s idea of girls’ night out and mine are totally different. I have zero desire to be forced to put on makeup or any version of pants. Of course, I’m taking my sweet ass time getting ready. ![]() With the way Nicole drives, her lead foot will have us at the concert fifteen minutes before the opening act. I hear her mutter something under her breath as she walks away. “The peril,” I taunt her as I finish putting my hair up. You’d think by now she’d know to pad things by twenty minutes if she wants a snowball’s chance in hell of getting anywhere on time. She’s been my best friend since the sixth grade. We’re always late because of you!” Nicole yells from outside the bathroom. ![]()
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