A Bit of Stage Fright

I have recently gotten a Wii. Between overtime and a gifting from my mom, I decided to really splurge. Now I can go back to being poor until January. But in the meantime, I have a system, a number of controllers, and a box that says "Rock Band." Scares the behiebbies outta me. If the offspring were here, there would be packing material everywhere. Unholy noises blasting to the horrifying of the neighbors. I'd be grappling with the controllers to save my life. Which is pretty accurate, considering I must maintain gaming superiority in my house at least a little longer.

But I find myself staring at the box and telling myself, "At least wait until the living room is clean." What is this chickening out? You'd think I didn't WANT to cavort on stage in lycra and shabby grunge under sweltering lights with unmedicated people jumping at my feet.

And I can't believe it's been almost a month. I'm missing two days. I think I will postpone the inevitable and have a revisiting for a full 30. Then I can go from Marrow's to Roux's.

~

The bathroom was very quiet. The door shuffed behind her with a deadened plonk; it had no qualms about the soundproofing. The designer obviously had followed a different concept as far as bathrooms went. The plush carpet stopped just shy of the marble under the sinks, and a row of discreet boudoir doors hid any attempt at plumbing. The high backed chaise across from the mirrored wall was plum with verdigris trim.

Ann sat carefully in the center. In spite of its secret yearning to be an eggplant in the next life, it was very comfortable. Really, it was beautifully quiet in here. The silence only wrinkled its nose at the fountain masquerading as a faucet. She slipped off her heels and lowered slowly down on the chaise. Lounging was a thing she was sure the bathroom would disapprove of, but it felt very good.

The headache creeping up on her was taken aback. With any luck, she could get her shoulders to relax and rout it entirely. Ann wondered how long she could stay here without being missed. It would depend on whether the internship speculation collided head on with apprenticeship and folk art. That might provide enough time for a nap. But if they wandered into dressing appropriately she'd be hauled out in ninety more seconds.

She winced her eyes closed and fumbled for her clutch. Was there still a pen in there? The water splashing in the basin sounded like blood splashing. Or ink. It seemed to be a sign.