Today’s outfit: a mile and a half of black tights, black baggy blouse, screaming gold-orange vest, rooster slippers, hair greasy with conditioner and piled into a tower on my head. And I intend to truck bags of garbage and recycling to the bins in this outfit. I’ll only have myself to blame if I am sexually harassed on the way.
The Scorpio has survived my last seduction fashion experiment with his usual amused cool. I’m tucked behind the door when he comes in, leaning out so he can see the top half of me. Candles glow in the dark, his favorite drink is waiting on the coffee table, next to a vase of white carnations.
“Whoa. You look nice….” He’s caught the grey lace bra and short, see-through silver robe. His eyes follow the robe down and he bursts out laughing when his gaze hits the rooster slippers.
“I blogged about doing this,” I explain, “I said it was my contribution to truth in advertising.” The Scorpio never reads my blog.
“Well, “ he says, “I think you just about got it right.”
“So you’re not put off then?” He smirks and reaches for me. Not likely.
Okay. Let’s try this:
“I was thinking of wearing the slippers in bed. How do you think you’d feel then?” The Scorpio gave up trying to stop me analyzing him long ago.
“I think if you did that I’d be having extremely inappropriate thoughts next time I play Sesame Street on the computer with my granddaughter.”
One of my girlfriends has a theory which she airs one day when I’m complaining loudly about the unavailability of really juicy lingerie in Halifax. Too much Baptist not enough Fredricks of Hollywood. “Oh forget the lingerie, for Goddsake! Men don’t care if you’re covered in sheep dip as long as they’re getting laid.”
I’m not sure that’s entirely right. It’s a tad extreme. The Scorpio is a very clean person and I doubt I’d get far with him if I bathed in dung. However, I have concluded that you can appear as a cartoon character and still get lucky. Jessica Rabbit move over for Big Bird.
