Dressed To Kill

I looked like a sexy disco ball.

My silver handbag was shiny enough that had it been daytime, magpies would have tried to steal off with it. My blouse was sheer with tiny silver dots laying out the curve of my breasts, my waist. In brown wide leg trousers I channeled Marlena or Kate Hepburn. And I wore fuck-me-shoes.

I had two birthday parties back to back and birthday parties are the best hunting grounds.

Or so I thought.

Because I forget that all of my friends are either (a) old, (b) married, or (c) in relationships with each other (or all of the above).

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