Yard Sale of Thoughts

I take out a garment bag, unzip the front to find a burgundy evening gown. Bingo. Let that fabric breathe. At half-past eight, I squeeze a victory lemon. I shave the rind closer than I’d done my legs in the oversized tub upstairs; I’m a firm believer that all good hauls should end with a twist.

Bottoms up, beautiful. My sexy self-talk starts early tonight and I check in the hallway mirror to ensure there’s no lipstick staining my teeth or boogie trolls lingering below the bridge of my nose. I even manage to bag a chin hair that’s been lingering for weeks like a stray dog. Bonus.

When the doorbell rings, my jaw stiffens. I’ve cased this house for months. No visitors after eight. Ever. Through the peephole stands a middle-aged man, his head a tiny white island of skin protruding from a sea of silvery waves. All part of the spoils, I consider, cautiously turning the deadbolt.

“Diane? That you? Wow, you look amazing. I mean, you look great online, but in person, you’re even more gorgeous.”

“Getting front porch cold feet?” I resist licking my lips and let my newfound friend cross the threshold.

“Honestly, I thought you’d never keep our date, not after I shared about my halitosis.”

“Hal, eh? Yeah, I think we’ve all had a run-in with that bastard before.” His giggle reminds me of a kookaburra. Cute. He’ll do for the evening.

Too bad shortly afterward, there’s both sparks and sirens. Hard to disarm a silent alarm when you’re busy pinching someone else’s belongings and blind date. Ah well, robbery and romance really don’t mix.

© khartless 2021, All Rights Reserved

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A bit of romantic comedy to round out the week. Let me know if it makes you giggle. Happy Sunday!