First things first: I found a dress. Little, black, cocktail, all the important things. The thing is, shopping for dresses these days is absolutely, downright, horrifically depressing. I’m short and wear a size 4, which means that most normal dresses (like that cute Nicole Miller that was on sale) just don’t hang right. Usually they’re too big on top and too long on the bottom. When I’m skinny I can get away with a size 2, but these days I need a 4 petite. And petite clothes are just about the ugliest thing ever. If I were 60, I’d STILL be too young to be wearing three-quarters of that stuff.
Anyway, here’s the dress I wanted:
And here’s the one I bought:
OK, so that was the dress. Moving on. I spent a good chunk of Saturday fighting with my boyfriend. So much for not being able to provoke him. He was yelling alright. And he said something nasty and uncalled for that made me cry.
I’ve been so out of sorts lately. I know it’s singularly selfish. People would kill to have my life. I mean, it’s hard to live in New York City (make it here, make it anywhere, and so on), but by all accounts I’m succeeding marvelously. I’ve got the boyfriend, the job, the apartment in the West Village (on the horizon), and hell, I’m even invited to some fancy schmany black tie dinner Friday night. And yet? I don’t know. I haven’t been myself.
“I’ve been really cranky lately,” I told Bateman as we were walking to the gym on Saturday.
“What’s with that?”
“I don’t know. I’m just in a funk.”
I think fundamentally I just HATE waiting. I think if I were LIVING with Bateman already, I wouldn’t be second-guessing myself every other day. I’d be comfortably enjoying our routine. It’s when I don’t see him for long stretches of time that I get antsy. He’s working nights, I’m traveling all over the country. It’s NOT conducive to maintaining a relationship.
I stayed over at his place last night. By tacit agreement, we didn’t mention our fight. But I couldn’t help alluding to it — part of it — at bedtime. “What if I get a big promotion down the line?” I asked him as we were lying in bed. “What if they want to bring me over to their London headquarters?”
“I can practice in London,” he said.
Then we had sex. Now I don’t know WHAT I’m feeling. Well, I’m thinking that a promotion in London would be pretty damn cool. Especially if Bateman were willing to come with me.
