Our normal routine has been thrown off this week. Due to the holiday, we're having to meet on Wednesday instead of Tuesday. In fact, in just about two hours I'll be leaving my house to meet the Englishman. I'm sure most men's routine consist of a shower and a clean shirt. For me, it's a drawn out ritual I have begun to cherish.
Three days before- I start cutting out all carbs. This didn't happen this week due to the plethora of barbeques I attended. I'm not sure when Memorial Day became about burgers and beer, but that pretty much sums up my weekend.
Two days before- I cut out any carbonated drinks. No explanation needed... just trying to avoid a spankee's nightmare.
One day before- I carefully pick out my outfit, from panties to shoes. I actually think about it all week, but what I actually wear is usually dictated by my mood and the weather.
Day of- I wake up with a big smile on my face, knowing the morning will be a busy one. I make my coffee and sip it throughout this overly lengthy process. I shower, shave, exfoliate, rinse and repeat. I carefully wrap my hair in a towel so it can dry. While my skin retains the moisture from the shower, I slather myself from head to toe in lotion, softening my skin for his touch even more. I brush my teeth like someone with OCD washes their hands...each time thinking I've had my last sip of coffee. But my nervous energy keeps me reaching for my mug, which won't help with those butterflies that tremble at my fingertips. After my hair is dried, I curl it, creating those large, loose waves he is so fond of. My make up routine is fairly simple- just a little powder. Things always get too hot...the sweat, the hair, our breath meeting in the close space between us creating its own atmosphere. Having to worry about my make up smearing is not what I want to be thinking about. I apply the lightest touch of perfume, just enough to make me delectable. I get dressed and pace around, making sure I have everything.
Finally, by 10:30, I am out the door, on my way to meet the man who will make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world as I lay across his lap. And none of the above has anything to do with that.