Next steps, next steps, next steps. Advisor Girl allows no laurel resting. Comfort zone exiting should be accomplished incrementally, not by leaps and strides. No such luck.
Informed I have no choice, there are two new assignments.
As we film for the You Tube Channel and prepare for a new website launch,
The Fixer stresses stretching myself, now more than ever. I will encounter all kinds of people and need be girded for whatever may flounce into my life. Hmmm.
She assigns me things not in the experience vault.
I must sit in a bar by myself. I raise my chin and an eyebrow. She waves a hand reminding me she’s in charge. Not a slimy bar, or a bar I wouldn’t frequent with friends. It should be a bar I know, feel safe in, and suits the title Duchess. I know where to go–a fave of The Norwegian and myself.
She’s says that’s okay but it’s not to go in memory of times past. It is to become comfortable being a woman on my own. I’m not waiting for someone. I am just there because I want to be.
So, here’s the plan: Go to the loveliest place in all of Phoenix and Scottsdale, park my ass at the bar and order a Grey Goose dirty martini. I figure a martini sends out an “I know how to drink” message and the Grey Goose adds, “I’m partial to French vodka.” Why this seems important? No clue. Just girding.
Sisterella asks, “Are you nervous?”
“Yeah, a little. I would ask you to go but that kind of defeats the purpose.” We decide I go, and a while later she comes, but sits away from me. She’s been single a long time. The chick is fearless.
The purpose is to speak to people: male, female, bartenders, whomever. Guys go sit in bars by themselves all the time. How do they do that?
I slowly nod and The Fixer adds another field trip. Mouth gapes open while my head shakes no. Lips are probably pursed as well. She says, “Stop scrunching your forehead!”
“No woman your age should never have been there,” she says. And here we go. Yep, it’s the sex toy store. Not only do I have to go; I have to film, with a friend or two. It is to be light and funny but not like giggly, silly girls. Informative, for women my age. Dignified, like the duchess, but fun. Also, woven in with my natural curiosity. If I had natural curiosity, don’t you think I may have already been there?
At happy hour, I tell Sweetest G, The Goddess and their men plus The Swede, of this next adventure. Hands raise straight away. Not the guys. They change the subject, shift in their seats and act as if I didn’t say anything. Baby Pea tells me Saturday, after a crushing Bama loss, she is happy to join in the fray.
“There is one next to my gym,” she adds, all perky. Attempting delicacy; she says there are some things that may require a heads up–like latex butts. She is correct. Color me baffled.
Any takers? The more the merrier, so to speak. Remember your pearls. You’ll need something to grasp when you spy the latex butt.
The Duchess Diaries 