The wedding night…
I check out my reflection in the women’s washroom at the lounge bar I’m at. My feet are starting to hurt with the heels I’m wearing, and my tight dress is starting to feel constricting instead of like a second skin. I look good, but I don’t feel it.
This is what you get for hanging out in sweats all day while you work. Nothing will ever feel as comfortable.
There’s a ticking clock only I can seem to hear, and desperation never looked attractive on anybody.
I double-check my makeup, leaning in close to my reflection, running one of my nails carefully under each eye to clean up the flakes of mascara that have fallen onto my under-eyes.
I admire my eyeshadow look – a cut crease of teal shimmer against a deep plum outer corner. I already posted the look to my i********:
