I could smell the glitter on you tonight. The glitter and the giggles…the cherry red pumps and the rattling bass.
I wonder if your friends' wives can smell it on them, too. I know you didn't go by yourself. They were your alibi, after all.
What was it? Ah, yes, "poker night with the guys, Diane. Don't wait up for me, because I'll be back late."
But I'm too smart, too experienced to fall for that.
I went and had coffee tonight, just like I said I would. It's not my fault that you never asked if "Jamie from work" was male or female.
We went to that little shop on the corner and talked and laughed. I've never seen such long eyelashes on a man. His dimples, his sky blue eyes, those lips. They slide through my mind on a never-ending loop.
I didn't want up for you, I just couldn't turn it off.
We only had coffee, really.
He didn't grind on me and I didn't slide singles into his underwear.
I just bared my soul and spoke of things that I haven't been able to speak to you about in years.
And he just made me fall in love with him.
I somewhere, deep down, I know that's worse than me paying him in ones to turn me on.
We made love that night, you and I.
And I know you were thinking of Candy or Vixen or Pom-Pom or whatever those women call themselves.
But that's okay.
I think I whispered his name.
But I don't think you heard me.
You couldn't get the glitter out of your ears.