You will wake up in a purple dress with one stiletto dangling off the bed.
The hangover is not quite as guilty without the boxers on the floor.
The custom is to wake up earlier than boxer boy
          or brief, (depending on the club, more or less) and to venture to the kitchen.
You don’t mean to wake up so early, but somehow you cannot stop thinking,
                        planning your morning greeting (It gets easier with each visitor), deciding what more you can cut from your diet, wondering how many of the drinks you bought made it to your mouth, rehearsing the pickup lines, wondering how many calories are contained in two ball-loads of cum, avoiding the stifled noxious …

But this morning you are only tired, having been too unconscious to sleep.

You will take off your dress and shower:
matté, polish, gloss, glitter, wax, ink, stick, concealer down the drain until
there is just
you
step out of the shower into an oversized Mickey Mouse t-shirt and you already feel the shameful transformation,
loathe the comfort of rags but love being able to
rub your eyes with your knuckles.

You will make coffee and fry eggs you won’t taste, because you add no cheese, salt, milk, sugar, or spice. You see a Burger King bag half shoved in the trash, and so you skip the eggs.

You will go to the store in heels and lipstick to buy magazine, gum, and Crystal Light.

You will download the music you heard in his car, but you will have to google the strand of lyrics you remembered because you were too ashamed to ask him the names and thus admit that you have not heard every song ever streamlined.

But when you die it won’t be like what happened with that man who rotted in his apartment
for a year before he was found, because your activity partners will notice that you have not been contributing to cyberspace.
But this is the only reason (more or less).
“Thank God for Facebook.” you replied,
giggled, tossed your hair, glanced around to see who laughed,
reapplied Lancome’s “Vixen,” which, oddly enough, from this distance seemed to read
“Victim.”