Out out

The doorbell sings

A starting gun

The event has begun

My best friend stands grinning, arms outstretched

Bearing gifts of fizzing wine and snacks

Offerings to the gods of Saturday night sallies.

The cork flies into orbit

We toast and prepare to head out

Where ‘most everyone has gone before’

Clothed in the finest excitement for

the possible shenanigans in store

A catalogue of skirts, tops, tiny dresses and disablingly high-heeled shoes

arrange themselves seductively for our

inspection

perusal

selection

“You wore that last time”

“It makes me look too fat”

“Too tarty”

“The straps piss me off”

I slip things on, pull them off,

twirl, dance, sit,

put them through their paces

until I stand

LUMINOUS

in the garb that has picked me

and is lighting me up like a disco light

I feel invincible

Ready for a club night

but not before a few hours in the pub, right?

We clink our glasses to mark this first success

Beats blazing from the speakers in my ordinary room

mixed with a splash of pure elation

pulse deep within my chest

The Expectation…

that this night will exceed all the rest.

With our artist palettes

We paint our new portraits

that looķ somewhat like ourselves

only shinier

and more defined

A thousand dìfferent promises gleaming in our eyes.

Our carriage arrives ten minutes later than it ought

and announces itself by the blare of its horn.

Then bullies its way through the streets it seems to own

as with rising impatience we are hastily brought

To the gates of all that is in store

We alight, take a deep breath, smile

and fling them open.