Page 3 of Man Hands
Okay, four.Still.
With each one it’s the same story. Bloated face, huge boobs, hips built to carry three or four children, and anvil feet. How? How did I let this happen to myself? The mirror hates me. It’s propped up against the wall because this is a new apartment and I don’t know how to do anything, and hanging a mirror is just too much work. But still, something is justwrong.
I grab the edges of the mirror, thinking to give it a little shake. I’d rather shake Steve for wrecking my self-esteem, but he’s notavailable.
It proves unsatisfying to wrestle a mirror, though, so I lean it against the wall again, this time at less of an angle. And when I catch my reflection again, something has shifted. My face is slimmer, my hips less otherworldly. Even my cleavage isperkier.
It’s amiracle!
Wait.
Okay, who knew that mirrors can make you look funny when they were angled on the wall? Not me, obviously. I’ve been in this new house for two months already, wondering how I’d become so stumpy looking. I’d thought it was a side effect ofdivorce.
So this is a shred of good news, and I’veneededthat.
Even so, I don’t feel like going to a party. I grab my phone and add a message to the three-way text conversation I’ve had going with my friends for, I swear, whichever year texting wasinvented.
Me: I’m notgoing.
Ash: Fuck you. You’regoing.
Sadie: Just wear the wrap dress. The wrap dress is made for every body shape. The wrap dress can make the Michelin Manlooksexy.
I’m not sure how Sadie knows I’m struggling with what to wear. Okay, she’s a therapist and all. But sometimes her level of empathy puts her in the category of beingfreaky.
Me: I don’t want to go. You guys have fun. I think I havetheflu.
Ash: You don’t have the flu. You’regoing.
Me: Ebola. I have Ebola. And you don’t joke aboutEbola.
There’s a knock at my door, and I hear Ash screaming, “I’m here! Open the fucking door or I’m going to start fuckingswearing!”
Crud. Since I’m new to the neighborhood, I’m worried about what the neighbors will think of their new, psychotic, recently divorced, bloated neighbor, so I throw on the wrap dress, tie it, run downstairs, and openthedoor.
Ash and Sadie look at me, stunned. “I gotta say,” Sadie says, “Exposing your breast like that is really…” She looks like she can’t think of therightword.
“Adventurous?” Ashoffers.
“Adventurous, yeah, butmaybenot…”
“Wise,” I finish, looking down to see that I tied the dress, yes, but I left one boob out in the open. Thank god it’s covered by my sports bra. Still. This was almost a full-on nipple infraction. In front of the neighbors too. “Get in here,” I say and wave theminside.
Ash and Sadie look great. They always do. Ash is a ruthless realtor, ever keen to make the sale. She doesn’t take any bullshit, and right now she’s dressed like she just barbecued some poor soul and then went shopping at Bergdorf to celebrate. She’s sleek and thin and blond, of course, and intimidatingashell.
Sadie, new mom to the cutest babies on the planet, is softer, with wispy, curly brown hair, brown skin, and eyes that make you want to bake her a muffin. Ash is in a pencil skirt and a silky blouse thing, and Sadie has on this bohemian kind of dress that shows off her clavicles and I’m pretty sure she’sbraless.
And I’m wearing a too-tight dress with my sports-bra boob hanging out. No wonder Steve couldn’t get it upforme.
Right then and there, I starttocry.
“I can’t go out on the prowl, guys. I don’t want to do this. Too scary,” I whine. “I just want to cook something and post it online and have a thousand people like it so I feel validated. Can’t I do thatinstead?”
“No,”theysay.
Fuckinggirlfriends.
Ash runs past me, heading upstairs. “Where are you going?” I call after herskinnybutt.
