"Dedicated to my special friend and co-conspirator Rebecca. Thanks for all the help editing and suggestions, my ToE girl."
My name is Jennifer and I should mention right off that I am a widow, which is part of the reason for my slightly above average lifestyle. Unfortunately, my nouveau prosperity came at the bittersweet loss of the love of my life, and subsequent inheritance of a generous life insurance policy distribution.
Since losing Ricky, I'd not done much thinking about the opposite sex. My high sex drive had slowly been coming back, but I wasn't too interested in facing the demons I'd squelched right after the funeral. End of story.
It's been a good several years since those tragic days. More recently, I feel pretty good about my stability and some of the new directions my life has taken. But let me digress to about a month and a half ago...
Looking back now, the story I'm about to reveal to you seemed like the beginning to an ordinary day.
I'd awakened at my usual early hour, taking my time with enjoying my coffee and setting the pace I would have to call "leisurely vanity". I don't like to rush my mornings, and I want to look my best when I'm all done. Sure, it means I have to get up sooner than I would have to otherwise, but I've never been the kind of free spirit who can hop out of bed, toss on jeans and a t-shirt, brush my teeth, and head out the door.
I'd be afraid to sum up all the hours I have lived my life, taking the necessary time it requires to be presentable and happily coifed and pampered each and every day. I guess I envy those who can get away with those minimal preparations. Ha!
I especially like to keep my nails nice, so I regularly visit the local spa for a mani and pedi. Just one of those necessary luxuries, you know. I'm an inveterate fan of my French look. I think the result is professional, laid back and very sexy, all at the same time, depending on the circumstances. Whether I'm wearing my favorite bikini or pinstripe suit, I love the sharp appeal of that pretty white stripe on the ends of my perfectly sculpted tips, fingers AND toes.
That's arguably one of the most fundamental, visual elements of the female mystique, in my opinion. Am I letting on about a bit of a fetish for you, my reader? I suppose I am, but you'll get to know that and more about me as you read further, and I hope we'll discover and build a certain relationship here together. I'm altogether cool with the idea of you falling for me. God, I'm such a flirt!
Maybe you're wondering more about the rest of the picture. OK, ok. I'm taller than your normal American girl, busting the average by several inches. Let's just say that I am one of those girls who captivate people's opinions wondering what it would be like to be entangled by "...those long legs of hers".
By the way, I'm so glad for the fashion shift this year in women's heels. I never liked those long, pointy elf-toe shoes that have been popular the past few years. I adore the newer round-nose shoes that have hit the stores this fall. That being said, the effect of me in my heels with my height make for quite a sexy presence, especially when I match an entire ensemble with say, a tasteful pencil skirt and crisply starched, classic blouse.
My long, curly, brunette hair still looks quite attractive on my slender, 28 year old frame. I'm not into being all buff, though I admire any woman, well any person, come to think of it who works to maintain at least some of that sexy body we were all born with. I prefer to maintain a nice overall tone.
My greatest insecurity is about how I come off with people. I really admire the softer touch so many of my female friends have which seems to allude me. That's the one major thing I'd like to trade in, if I had the choice. Somehow I seem powerless to override my instinct for having a much too sharp edge at times.
Folks where I work do seem to respect me for a good level of intellect. I'm fairly passionate about my profession, and I never allow the mixing of business and pleasure. I suppose I might come off cold that way, but my Daddy gave me succinct advice about that long ago which I've always managed to keep in the front of my work experience. It's paid off well for me, and I enjoy a comfortable lifestyle, shall we say, due to a good education and an even better work ethic.
Well, so as I started off telling you, it seemed like an ordinary day, as I pressed the button to open the garage door and started my shiny, little Nissan 370Z.
I love the feel of my leather seats that seem sculpted just for me. I exited my driveway, with the quiet but powerful feel of that little rice rocket moving me forward in a very satisfying manner, shifting through the gears with the leather knob in my right hand.
Within 5 minutes, as the sun began to break the horizon with its typical beautiful hues, I had arrived in the small town I live close to and I began to encounter the first few vehicles of others who were on their way to make it to their morning jobs.
I was soothed by the high quality sound system I had ordered my car to be equipped with. Although I like a large variety of diverse musical artists, from contemporary to classics, I was tuned to some relaxing, commercial-free piano, a Franz Schubert piece I think, thanks to my magical and mysterious satellite provider I sooo take for granted.
As I came to a rather halting stop for some unknown conflict ahead, I was suddenly bumped in my rear! Talk about being shocked out of my little slice of commuter heaven!
I could tell right away there wasn't too much damage, because the force of the impact was only minor. Nevertheless, I knew I was in for a pain-in-the-ass encounter with my assailant, and worse still, the INSURANCE company. Damn the shitty luck. I began to lay odds upon the likeliness that they were using their damn cell phone and not paying attention. Pet peeve city.
My ruminations quickly came to an abrupt end, when I saw in the side mirror a flash of brilliant color, as the driver who hit me climbed out of its car. Yes...ITS! Not his, not hers, but holy fucking...what was that? OMG! "What is that?", I mused, as I checked out the blob of color that was approaching my car in an animated way. A clown? A clown hit me!
You've got to be fucking kidding me! A short, unisex figure spilled out of their car, cell phone to their ear, as IT approached me. I had no idea what to make of the apparition enfolding before me. Was it a girl or a guy? I couldn't even tell, thanks to the goofy makeup and the fluorescent orange wig.
Imagine my thoughts upon the realization of such a strange situation. I mean really! Have you ever been in a collision with a clown? What an absurd situation. I almost expected 20 more to come tumbling out of the vehicle, with bicycle horns squeaking and jugglers juggling.
I tried to regain some composure, and hit the little button to drop my electric window downward. Her voice, so panicked, but reliably feminine, finally gave me the identity of her gender.
"Oh my god!" "I'm so sorry for bumping you." she said, as she closed her cell phone and bent down to apologize. Suddenly after being so consumed with part rage, part total vulnerability, there was this urge to just burst out laughing, as her bright purple, bobbing, round nose and exaggerated red mouth was right in my face.
I unfastened my seat belt and began to open my door. She sort of jumped back from the car as it opened. I climbed out, grabbing my wallet and registration card as I exited my personal space. Again, the girl who I made out to be younger than me, and shorter by the typical amount, began apologizing effusively, as we both went back to survey the damage.
Her non-flattering outfit, not the least bit fitted since it appeared to be derived from a bed sheet, did nothing to reveal anything but a reasonably respectful physique, no more, no less. The more I noticed, the more I realized she was quite a bit shorter than I was, like maybe just over 5 feet. She actually seemed sort of adorable, with a lost little puppy kind of personality, as she went on about this and that, revealing more and more of her quirky self.
In an effort to calm the situation down to a reasonably manageable level, and to try to restore an element of sanity to this crazy situation, I interrupted her and stuck out my hand, saying, "Hey, don't worry, this kind of thing happens all the time, and by the way, my name is Jennifer."
The clown introduced herself as "Vicki" and offered her small hand in a reserved and tender manner that struck me as very non-clownish. Maybe Vicki was a very sweet clown, instead of a typical boisterous and annoying one. Whatever! I knew my best bet was to try to apply a sensible scrutiny to the situation and an orderly exchange of information so we could both be on our way and not let this unwieldy situation require more effort than necessary.
Over the next many minutes, things calmed down and we swapped our information; details for the insurance companies to sort out. Other cars went by, gawking at the unusual, early morning spectacle taking place.
Soon, the lone cop car arrived, and the officer, once he got over the same initial shock I felt in the company of our colorful driver (who, as it turns out, was on her way to a paid gig), got us mercifully through the usual procedure. Before long, we all bid one another a kind enough thanks and goodbye. Of course, I knew I'd have a big hassle ahead, just to get the bit of damage Ms Vicki Clown had administered to the virgin derriere of my little car.
Well, that should have been the end of the story right? It's funny how the little incidents in life, as we cross paths with our fellow humans, can have such huge consequences in our destiny. Sometimes I think there's more to the "butterfly effect" than we wish to believe.
