The Classy Shy Girl

Chapter 2

 I  stare blankly at the laminate, trying to understand what I had got myself into.

 A half hour has past and I'm still pretty inanimate. I shake myself out of my day dream but end up falling into another one staring at the turned off television. I finally realise that with three and a half hours to turn my half-dead face and messed up hair looking half decent I need to hurry up. I get up, my eyes still fixed on the television. Standing up, I stretch my arms and groan at the satisfaction. 

I breathe out a massive breath and walk out of the room and up the stairs. I don't even know what I'm gonna wear; do I wear a dress? Does this guy like dresses? I think about my wardrobe for a second but then remember how long my hair takes to dry and quickly take my purple pyjama bottoms off and unbutton the long sleeved, red pyjama top. 

I shut the door and take a twenty minute long shower, washing more than I have ever washed. The steaminess of the room worries me because the last thing on earth I want to do is sweat. I open the door and the massive cool air sends me a shiver. Using my towel to dry myself, I start with my hair, which I guess I have a blow-dryer to dry. 

I dry my body and shake my hair. I wrap the towel around my body and leave the bathroom. My natural blondy-brown hair is cold and wet and lays on my back due to its medium-length. 

I look in my wardrobe and manage to decide on my vintage floral dress and strappy sandals. All I have left is to dry my hair and put on a little more makeup than what I usually would. Which isn't much. 

Actually, first date, first test. I might not even wear any makeup and see what he says. I wonder if he's honest and tells me I look an absolute mess. I won't even bother to try with my hair. It usually goes all puffy and flicks if I leave it from blow drying it but it looks alright. 

I walk to the front room from my bedroom and look at the clock.

'Five o'clock?!'  I'm shocked to see time fly so much. He'll be here in an hour, I'll go see what I look like. I run back up the stairs and look in my walled mirror. I push the side of my hair upwards to see how puffy it is. It flicks at the back which I brush as soon as I see. I am starting to get nervous. Why the hell did I decide not to wear makeup? 

It's fine, I'm sure I didn't look much better drunk. 

I hear a knock at the door and I jump.