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Chapter OneBirthday Girl?
To Do
(before birthday next year)
Stick notes on refrigerator, coffee machine and all mirrors (because that way he's bound to get message) to remind Adam about my forthcoming birthday.
Send Adam many e-mails to remind him about my forthcoming birthday.
Talk incessantly and at length about my forthcoming birthday.
- Forgive darling Adam. (Tiffany's ring is, after all, Tiffany's ring! Y-e-s!)
6 A.M.
I open my eyes and blearily check the radio alarm as Robert Plant (a god among men) sings to me that he's got a whole lotta love. Yes! It's Friday. It's June 28. It's my birthday.
My thirtieth birthday!
Wonder what gifts I'll get from darling Adam, lovely friends, and odd-but-caring family ... Of course, gifts are not important, not at all when compared with greater issues such as World Peace and Human Rights. But still would be nice to get gifts ... Tiffany's ring, maybe ...
Anyway. Am I depressed at the onslaught of middle age? No! Am I obsessing that the best years of my carefree youth are over? Not me! Am I unhappy to see the end of my twentysomething years? Not a chance! Am I carefully scanning the mirror each day for signs of lines? You bet.
It's crazy, you know? But I yearn for a few mature lines around my eyes. Now that I'm thirty, people will have to take me more seriously.
I can't wait to start the day! Because today is a day filled with exciting possibilities. Three,actually.
- The Promotion. Should find out today. The interview, last week, went very well. I think that William Cougan (CEO) and Jacintha Bridges (Director of Human Resources) were impressed that the Kitty Krunch and Perfect Pantyhose campaigns were my ideas. Although they did seem to think that Adam was responsible. Strange ...
- The Party. With Adam and wonderful friends. I'm sure they like him more, now that they know him a bit better ...
- The Proposal. At least, I think Adam's going to propose. I'm sure he's going to propose. Yes, definitely ...
As Bob (as I familiarly refer to Mr. Plant) croons that he's going to give me all of his love, I want to give Adam all of mine, so I snuggle back toward him. If I wiggle just a little, he'll know I'm ready for some early-morning, birthday romance. Can't be too obvious about it, because Adam thinks there's nothing more of a turn-off than a woman who initiates sex. That's men for you.
Oh, I know that's a bit old-fashioned, but he's an old-fashioned sort of guy about some things. Although his firm belief that women should always wear modest skirts is a bit unfortunate for me. Being four feet, eleven inches tall means that my legs are not very long and modest skirts turn them into six-inch matchsticks. This is not a good look for me. Although Adam does have a penchant for stockings and garter belts ...
As I wriggle further to his side of the bed, all I meet are empty spaces and no Adam. The crumpled pillow holds the dent of his head, but not his, you know, actual head. And the covers are cold. Where is he?
Of course. He must be making me breakfast in bed! I'm a bit disappointed about the fading possibility of some early-morning sex, because he's been very distracted and tired over the last few weeks. I wonder if he needs to go see his doctor? I hear that Viagra does wonders for the male sex drive. Anyway, after a leisurely breakfast in bed, maybe he won't be so tired. Maybe he'll reach over and kiss me, then ...
I sigh and dive back under the comforter for an extra few luxurious minutes before Adam returns with my birthday feast. Hmmm ... I'll eat strawberries straight from his hand, and take bites of croissant in between kisses ... One thing will lead to another and we'll have lovely, romantic sex. Adam, bathed in the afterglow of love, will magically produce a small jeweler's box from Tiffany's and beg me to marry him ...
Oh. Perfect! The radio station's playing doubles. More Led Zeppelin. Bob is now telling me that I will be his!
Hope Adam doesn't mind that I switched the radio to classic rock, instead of the classic classical he prefers ...
7 A.M.
Radio has clicked off and I've just realized that I don't hear any noise coming from the kitchen of our small (but tastefully lovely) apartment, so I'm getting up.My hand lingers briefly on my ratty old bathrobe, then I spurn it in favor of the new cream silk robe Adam gave to me. Although the old robe is comfortable and familiar, it is not a particularly good look for me. No, the cream silk is definitely the right choice. I slip quickly into the bathroom to rinse my mouth with mouthwash — morning breath is so unromantic.
Oh, God, my hair. Albert Einstein on a bad hair day! Must do something about it before Adam sees me ...
I pad over the beautifully refinished wood floor and into the living room. God, you can say what you like about Adam (all good, of course, because he's completely wonderful), the man has great taste! Tish says his taste is flawless, and she's an interior designer so she knows what she's talking about.
As I glance around at all the creams and whites in the sun-filled apartment, I shiver slightly at the coldness of the décor. But still, I'm happy to leave it to him. I really am. I mean, my idea of interior design is to buy things that catch my eye ...
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. Copyright © by Michelle Cunnah. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
