10 - I Bought Some Lacy PJs

I bought some lacy pjs from a woman who looked about my age. She asked me what the pajamas were for. Who they were for? I pressed my finger against my glittery lips. They were coated in a vanilla lip gloss, and the sticky residue stuck to my skin with delight. Whenever I spoke, I tasted the vanilla. She nodded back, informing me that my secret was enough for her to understand. This was for me.

I didn't even try them on; I knew they would fit. The frills and delicate stitching weave into and onto my body like close friends who haven’t seen each other for years. Then they do, and then they realize that time has gone by—quite some time—but they fit so well that it feels like it’s only been a few days at most.

I took them home and laid them out on my bed. I peered down at them, and for a moment, I wished a man would lie me down on a bed with as much grace as I give these pajamas. I shook off the thought and hopped into the shower.

The steam coats the mirrors and walls, and I let the heat soak into my body and force out the bad things that cling to my skin—things like sweat and dirt, but also the evil thoughts and the parts of me I hate. I can appreciate those things in the shower, how my body curves, and how it never seems to stop. The rolling hills of my skin go on forever, and I explore the endless expanse of my body as the soap glides over the mountains and valleys.

Fresh from my shower, steam clinging to my face, I apply lotions and creams until I smell like a cupcake. I place the lace over my head and slip my feet into the bottoms. The wetness from my hair trickles onto the front of my blouse, revealing what’s underneath. The water displays the parts of me I am always trying to cover up, but for some reason, in this pair of lacey pjs, I want to show off.

I let the liquid seep into the fabric. I marvel at myself in the mirror and wonder how someone can be this beautiful. I climb into bed.