Chapter 3.8: The Red Dress Incident - True Story
Sometimes I wonder if men realize how much women overanalyze their body language.
Probably not.
Because apparently, one little step backward can send a woman into an entire psychological investigation.
But let me start at the beginning.
I had rented a room at the Aloft.
Not for romance.
Not for a man.
For PEACE.
Sometimes I needed somewhere to escape Mommy Dearest's hoarding torture chamber.
My mother has somehow decided that every plant on Earth deserves a home inside our tiny condo.
Every.
Single.
Plant.
At some point I stopped asking where the next plant was going and simply accepted that I was apparently living in a botanical hostage situation.
So I rented a hotel room.
My daughter and I deserved a little peace.
I invited my friend Tati and her two little girls because they all get along beautifully with my daughter. She loved the idea, especially because it gave her a little time to enjoy herself with her man while the girls had their own little vacation.
Everybody won.
I took the girls shopping.
We found matching dresses.
I had some red wine while supervising their adventures.
My brother Vinny was there too, keeping an eye on us and making sure everyone was safe.
There was coloring.
There was playing.
There was enough giggling to make the hotel feel like a miniature summer camp.
Eventually the girls decided they needed the full beauty experience.
Hair.
Makeup.
The works.
Obviously, I provided.
Because apparently I'm not just a mother.
I'm also a tiny-girl glam squad.
Once everyone was settled, I decided to stop by the shop.
And because apparently I have never learned how to make a casual entrance...
I wore a little red dress.
My hair was freshly cut into a curly bob, which made me feel particularly cute that day.
The girls stayed in the car while I walked inside.
I approached Mr. M and asked if I could eventually bring the girls back to take pictures with the cars.
He smiled.
"Yeah, we can plan that out."
But something seemed off.
He looked distracted.
Frazzled.
Busy.
I could feel the energy shift.
So I immediately backed off.
"Okay. Maybe a little later when you're not so busy."
And I left.
No drama.
No expectations.
Later, we exchanged a few messages and ended up deciding that I'd come back after he finished work.
Around seven or seven-thirty.
By then, the girls were home with their parents, and I'd left my daughter with my parents.
So this time...
I went alone.
When I arrived, I started telling him about everything going on in my life.
I had rented a summer house in Dracut.
Things were happening.
Good things.
I was excited.
I felt like life was finally opening up.
And because he had always seemed so attentive when I talked, I told him something I'd been thinking about.
A secret, almost.
"I think I might have a car fetish."
He laughed.
I immediately clarified.
"I don't know if it's actually a fetish or if I'm just fascinated by cars. I probably need to figure that out."
He grinned.
"Oh really?"
Then he gestured toward the back.
"Go check it out."
So naturally...
I did.
He followed.
The back of the shop was strangely quiet.
I looked around.
"Maybe it's the noise."
I started laughing.
"Like when they're actually running and someone revs the engine."
Then I paused dramatically.
"If there's fire in the back?"
I looked at him.
"Oh my LORD."
I laughed.
"Panty dropper for sure."
I was joking.
Mostly.
Eventually we started walking back toward his office.
And that's when something strange happened.
I got closer to him.
He stepped backward.
I stopped.
"Are you scared of me?"
"No."
"Okay then..."
He moved aside.
I continued toward his desk.
He followed.
I stood in front of him.
And, unfortunately for the peace of my mind, my brain decided to wander.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
And suddenly I was having thoughts I absolutely wasn't going to say out loud.
He was holding a clipboard.
Then, almost abruptly, he lowered it and straightened his arms.
I blinked.
What the hell?
Did I smell?
Was he disgusted by me?
Did he somehow hear my thoughts?
Was my little red dress suddenly offensive?
My brain considered approximately seventeen possibilities in under three seconds.
I decided to ignore all of them.
"Okay, I have to go."
I stepped backward, giving him room to open the door like a gentleman.
Except...
I almost backed directly into him.
He stepped backward again.
And this time he was holding that clipboard like it had suddenly become extremely important.
Very firmly.
Very strategically.
I looked at it.
Then at him.
Then back at it.
Hmm.
Interesting.
He mumbled something like:
"Whoa... got a little close there."
I immediately became suspicious.
But instead of thinking anything useful, my brain produced the worst possible explanation.
Oh God.
Did I fart?
Maybe I'd accidentally released a silent but deadly chemical weapon and didn't know it.
Maybe the man was fighting for his life.
Maybe the clipboard wasn't protecting anything except his nostrils.
Honestly...
I didn't know.
And I wasn't about to ask.
He opened the door.
I smiled.
"Bye."
And I walked away.
Leaving him...
Whatever state I had apparently left him in.
I got into my car and went about my day.
Because sometimes ignorance really is bliss.
His Side of the Story
Imagined, obviously.
Not a serious problem.
Not a stop-everything-and-make-a-bad-decision problem.
Just...
A problem.
She walked into the shop looking completely different from the last time I'd seen her.
Short curly hair.
Red dress.
Confident smile.
And completely unaware of the effect she was having.
Or maybe she knew.
That was the dangerous part.
I tried to act normal.
"Yeah, we can plan that out."
Keep it professional.
Keep it together.
She left.
Good.
Problem solved.
Except she came back later.
Alone.
And somehow the red dress had gotten even more distracting.
She was talking about her summer house.
Her daughter.
Her plans.
Her life.
I listened.
I always liked listening to her.
Then she started talking about cars and whether her fascination with them was actually something more.
I laughed.
"Go check it out."
She walked toward the back.
I followed.
She joked about engine sounds.
Then fire.
Then apparently the existence of fire in the back of an exotic car while it revs up was enough to qualify as a "panty dropper."
I laughed.
But internally?
I was trying very hard to remain a professional adult.
As we walked back toward the office, she got closer.
I stepped back.
She noticed.
"Are you scared of me?"
"No."
Absolutely not.
I was scared of myself.
Then she looked at me.
Really looked at me.
And I had one horrifying thought:
Oh shit.
She knows.
I tried to keep my expression neutral.
She was wearing that red dress.
She was standing close.
And suddenly I was painfully aware of my own physical reaction.
The clipboard became my best friend.
I lowered it.
Straightened my arms.
Pretended everything was perfectly normal.
She looked confused.
I looked away.
Please leave.
Please don't notice.
Please don't make this more embarrassing than it already is.
Then she stepped backward.
Too close.
Much too close.
My heart nearly stopped.
I moved back again, gripping the clipboard like it could somehow save me from myself.
"Whoa... got a little close there."
She looked at me like she had no idea what I was talking about.
And somehow...
That made it worse.
She said she had to go.
I opened the door.
She walked out.
I watched her leave.
Then I stood there for a moment in complete silence.
The shop suddenly felt very quiet.
I looked down at the clipboard.
Then toward the door.
And laughed to myself.
Of all the things she probably thought were going through my mind...
She probably never imagined the truth.
Or maybe...
She knew exactly what she was doing.
Either way...
She left me standing there with nothing but an awkward silence, an overactive imagination, and a very inconvenient reminder that sometimes attraction doesn't need permission to show up.
And apparently...
Neither does a little red dress.
Comments
Post a Comment