We’re in Nicole’s car again, driving toward our destination. The ‘good’ news is we’re making good time. The bad news is I can barely breathe in this thing she calls a dress. It’s way too short, and way too tight, but according to her, that’s a ‘killer’ combination.
I think I might agree with her, only the person who might end up dying here is me and not the men she thinks will be ogling me because of it.
I shift in my seat again, adjusting the dress I’m wearing for the hundredth time in an attempt to get somewhat comfortable, because that’s the most I can ask for. This dress was not made to be comfortable. That much is clear.