Girl on the Brink: Surviving Desperate Times with Desperate Measures

I can see the first of October on my calendar, so I’m starting to pack away my sundresses and sandals, and take out my sweaters and slacks.

At my temp job, I’m not sure anyone cares what I wear. I feel sort of invisible there. I expect at least one or two men hanging out in my office doorway, chatting me up. Not that I’ve ever dressed provocatively to suggest a come on.

Watching it rain out my window becomes more commonplace, but other than that fall looks a lot like summer.

At night, however, the change of season is a huge difference. When I meet up with a guy, I dress to please, of course. I’m probably not going to want him, but I want—and expect—him to want me.

In the summer, it is shooting fish in a barrel. Show some skin, some leg, and he’s where you want him. Granted, you probably don’t want him to be anywhere, but at least it was your choice.

A different kind of a man is best suited for fall. He’s more discerning, more aware of fashion and presentation. I have to be honest, there are some men who are not immediately turned on by sweater Ann. For them, there’s cleavage.

And it is just damn harder to look good in the cold weather. Guys who like cold-weather girls also like to eat popcorn in bed, which is so not me.

You won’t find me with one of them. When I’ve tried it, I’ve had to re-do my hair in the bathroom, and it is never as good as it was before I left. Even with the umbrella and raincoat, I still end up getting wet. It messes up my makeup, and I have to schmooze in wet shoes.

On the other hand, I can invite the boys to join me in my reverie—take me someplace warm, and I’m yours.