Work Wife

Luck

My feet ache when they hit my carpet the next morning and I regret wearing heels to the event last night. I usually wear sensible pumps or wedges with my gowns but I thought I'd be sitting more than I was able to with all the fires I had to run around and put out. I also thought I was going to eat dinner, but I only managed to snag a roll and some rice by the time I got to the buffet line, hours after dinner concluded. I ran through a fast food drive-through at one a.m. and now deeply regret the fried food that's made my stomach sour. 

I stand under the hot water until I am fully salmon colored and am too tired to bother washing my hair. My neighbor Mina will be knocking on my door in twenty minutes to escort me to the farmer's market and I don't think she'll care if my short hair is still half-curled from last night. 

Mina and I have a standing tradition of walking down to the Sunday farmer's market that sets up a block from our townhomes on the rare weekends that I don't have an event to manage.

After pulling on my comfiest pair of shorts that still pass as public-appropriate and slipping into a tank I brought back from Barcelona, I shoot Mina a quick text to let her know I'm ready. The morning air is still tolerable, and I'm determined to be back on my couch before the temperature hits ninety. With a trip to Mexico looming midweek, my afternoon is earmarked for laundry and unapologetically bad TV binges between loads.

Grabbing a water bottle from the pantry, I catch sight of the sunshine streaming through the kitchen window. The light dances on my newly installed blue cabinets, making them glow. I can't help but smile. I'm still obsessed with how everything turned out. 

The best part of living alone is that I don't have to consider anyone else's tastes when I decorate. When I stumbled across a Better Homes and Gardens spread featuring a dark blue kitchen with butcher block counters, I knew instantly that was going to be my new kitchen. The massive, gaudy chandelier I found at an antique mall? Perfect for the living room. The gold and pink art deco wallpaper that would elevate my guest bathroom? Ordered six rolls without a second thought.

My style is bold, colorful, and unapologetically elegant. And the best part? There's no one grimacing at my choices while I slide my credit card.

I also love that while packing throughout the week, I can leave outfit ideas sprawled out on the counter and loveseat. My teal chair shoved in the corner of my living is currently holding all of my accessories and a beach hat is perched on top of my coffee table. I have beachy shit strewn all over my downstairs and love that no one can tell me to pick it up. 

My doorbell rings exactly at ten o'clock and I am just stuffing my feet into Nikes when I yank the door open. Mina slides in around me and notices my clothing piles immediately.

"Oh shit, Mexico is this week already?" She asks as she lifts a folded swimsuit cover-up off my banister. She holds it up against her and the bold colors pop off her olive skin with the thin material hitting her mid-thigh. It's an oversized box on me and I frown. 

"Yes, I am clearly in the process of packing and you just made me rethink that cover-up. You want it?" I ask her and her dark brown eyes glide down the flimsy dress. 

"What's wrong with it? Why don't you like it?" She asks with her unique accent popping through. Mina is Indian, born in London, but relocated to the States when she was twenty-one to get her medical degree so she could become an embryologist. Her accent is all over the place and I love when people try to guess where she is from. 

"I did like it, I just know how it's supposed to look. I don't want to feel frumpy surrounded by a bunch of hot twenty-five-year-olds. I'm only four years older, but they make me feel like I'm pushing forty," I mutter, yanking the front door open again. Mina folds the cover-up neatly and slides it into her cloth bag with a shrug. I have no doubt I'll see her rocking it over her bikini at our pool this summer.