Page 4 of Written By a Woman

We sat in comfortable silence as we sipped our drinks. It was the middle of the workday, and we would be having lunch soon. I was grateful that I had found these two ladies to hang out with so easily when I started at Sun Steer. At first, Jamie and I were surface-level friends, meaning we only spoke at work and didn’t even go as far as to exchange numbers. After a few months though, Jamie and I started to chat more and more. Eventually, we dived deeper at a company party when she had a couple of drinks. Thus, how I learned about her struggle with body dysmorphia.

At first, she was nervous to share with me because I was, well, bigger than her. Taller and wider. She didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable about my body simply because she was speaking about her issues with hers. I, however, assured her not to worry about it. I was blessed with a mother who cared about what I was exposed to as a young child, so I never got to witness early two-thousands celebrities calling one-hundred-and-twenty-pound women “plus-sized” or anything else insane. My mother only ever spoke positively about her body and my own.

My mother was proud of her Scandinavian features, and now so was I. If anyone took a look at me and didn’t like what they saw, that was their prerogative.

“I’m not doing anything Saturday night,” I offered after draining my mug and setting it in the sink.

“Really? No dates?” Mary asked, pulling herself away from Jamie and smiling at the little woman. Her black tank top had the female symbol on it in white.

Nothing else.

Because Mary was iconic.

“Believe it or not, no,” I smirked at Mary, who loved hearing about my dates with men because she couldn’t believe half of the things I experienced as a straight white woman intentionally seeking out men for companionship. She was even more curious about my dating life since she broke up with her girlfriend about six months ago, and I had a feeling that Mary was distracting herself with my lack of a love life to fill the hole that her breakup left.

“Why not?” Jamie asked as she followed me to the sink to rinse out her mug.

“I don’t know, after the last date I went on, I gotta admit I’m not excited to go on another,” I replied.

Mary immediately started laughing, and Jamie gave me a sad smile as they both remembered what had happened.

The man took a hard look at my dark red hair, and somehow gained the confidence to ask me if the carpet matched the drapes.

Why, men?

My phone vibrated, and I pulled the device out of the pocket of my jeans to see the notification. I blushed and immediately pocketed the phone, not wanting Mary or Jamie to see it. I was a chicken, and I was worried that they would tease me if they found out how I spent my nights when I wasn’t out on dates with disappointing prospects.

“You gotta get back on that horse eventually,” Mary tipped her head back and drained her energy drink before tossing it in the trash can behind her.

“Only because eventually, I’ll get bored of my DIY box.” I agreed, staring pointedly at Jamie who I knew would blush at the mention of sex toys. She was a private person who wasn’t as forward about her sex life, unlike Mary and me. But she was still friends with us, so we couldn’t have been too immature for her to hang around.

As I expected, Jamie blushed again with an embarrassed smile on her face.

“God, you’re adorable,” Mary pinched Jamie’s cheek, who quickly slapped her hand away while I laughed at them.

“I have been thinking about downloading a dating app myself, actually…” Jamie bit her bottom lip as her eyes bounced between the two of us, and Mary and I gaped at each other in shock.

“Are we going to hear stories about Jamie going on dates?” I asked Mary.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” Mary looked genuinely distraught, but her laughter let me know that she was joking around like I was.

“Shut up,” Jamie flipped us both off, making us struggle to compose ourselves, “I’m just inspired by Signe’s tales and success rate.”

“I don’t know if I’ve had any real success.” I countered.

“But you, like…” Jamie flapped her hand in the way that she did when she was struggling with which words to use, “…go homewith men.”

I stared at her.

Mary stared at her.

I broke the silence first with, “That doesn’t mean that I’m ‘successful’ with men. Half the time I fake it, I finish things off myself after they leave.”

“Oh my hell,” Mary palmed her forehead, “Don’t ever fake it with a man, that’s your first mistake.”

“But, like,” I quirked my lips to the side as I leaned a hip against the counter to explain myself, “If I know that I’m never going to see him again, and I am nowhere near close, I might as well just rip the band-aid off and get it all over with.”

“The attitude every woman wants with sex,” Mary lifted a dark eyebrow with her sarcastic remark, her piercing shining in the harsh light of the breakroom.

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