“Babe, are you almost ready? We’re gonna mess around and be late.”
“Yeah, give me five minutes,” I hollered from the bathroom.
“You said that 15 minutes ago.”
“You know beauty like this takes time. Better to be late than ugly!”
I could tell he was walking down the hall into the great room. His voice got more faint with every step. “Girl, you know your pretty ass would never be ugly. Not my woman. Hurry up.”
He probably thought I was standing at our oversized vanity, putting the finishing touches on my makeup. Ready to be his perfect woman for yet another night. Some fundraiser dinner for a charity that neither of us really cares about, but he has to be there. So that means I have to be there with him.
Truth was, I sitting on the floor in my bra and panties, exhausted. The floor was cold and my mouth was dry from all of the dry-heaving. My black cut-out dress was strewn across the tub, along with my robe. My necklace and one earring were on. The thought of standing up was more than I could bear.
When it happens, I have to stop everything before it stops me.
I managed to pull myself up. Rinse with a cup of mouthwash and dab the corners of my eyes with a damp towel. This has been my fifth anxiety attack. I don’t know how it happens, it does. Probably started about three months ago, but in that time I’ve learned to hide them from Eric.
“I’m coming. I decided to change my dress.” I took a deep breath and said a silent prayer to myself. “Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”
I stepped into the dress, pulled it up my body and adjusted the straps. Stepped into my pumps, and within five minutes, I was completely done up as if nothing had ever happened. Face beat. Hair flowing. I knew he would be pleased, and that’s exactly what I wanted.
I sauntered into the entryway where Eric was standing. “Ahem…Your queen is ready!”
He looked at me in amazement, admiring my every curve with his infectious smile. “Perfection as usual.”