FrenziedMaiden
Able Ethereal Broad
- Joined
- May 28, 2004
- Posts
- 4,328
This is a closed thread between myself and a very special man, but please feel free to read and enjoy
"Brianna, if you don't get your ass in gear we are going to be late, dammit!" I heard my husband, Paul yelling from the livingroom.
"Who gives a flying fuck?" I muttered under my breath in response as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, applying a coat of mascara to my large, greenish brown eyes. My slightly damp, wavy brown hair, still hanging loose around my shoulders. I really wasn't looking forward to going to yet another boring business dinner with one of Paul's clients. I didn't even know why he insisted that I attend these dinners, other than for me to to try and entertain the client's girlfriend or wife with silly small talk, while they discussed business.
Knowing that Paul would soon be pounding at the door while screaming at the top of his lungs at me, if I didn't kick it into gear, I quickly finished applying my makeup and then pulled my hair up and pinned it to my head. Then heading out to the bedroom, I slipped into my dark blue dress, the one that was of a respectable length and didn't show too much of my overly abundant cleavage. Then grabbing my shoes, making sure that I got the ones with the low heels. I was 5'9" tall in my bare feet, and Paul stood at 6'0" and he hated it when I appeared taller than him, especially when someone he did business with, would be seeing me. I always made sure to wear nothing with heels over 2 inches in height, so as not to embarrass, his royal pain in my ass.
Paul and I had been married for nearly ten years. We loved each other madly in the beginning, but for the last two or three years, we had come to merely tolerate each other. It seemed to be easier than getting a divorce.
"Let's go" I said wearily as I entered the livingroom and got my coat and purse.
"Brianna, if you don't get your ass in gear we are going to be late, dammit!" I heard my husband, Paul yelling from the livingroom.
"Who gives a flying fuck?" I muttered under my breath in response as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, applying a coat of mascara to my large, greenish brown eyes. My slightly damp, wavy brown hair, still hanging loose around my shoulders. I really wasn't looking forward to going to yet another boring business dinner with one of Paul's clients. I didn't even know why he insisted that I attend these dinners, other than for me to to try and entertain the client's girlfriend or wife with silly small talk, while they discussed business.
Knowing that Paul would soon be pounding at the door while screaming at the top of his lungs at me, if I didn't kick it into gear, I quickly finished applying my makeup and then pulled my hair up and pinned it to my head. Then heading out to the bedroom, I slipped into my dark blue dress, the one that was of a respectable length and didn't show too much of my overly abundant cleavage. Then grabbing my shoes, making sure that I got the ones with the low heels. I was 5'9" tall in my bare feet, and Paul stood at 6'0" and he hated it when I appeared taller than him, especially when someone he did business with, would be seeing me. I always made sure to wear nothing with heels over 2 inches in height, so as not to embarrass, his royal pain in my ass.
Paul and I had been married for nearly ten years. We loved each other madly in the beginning, but for the last two or three years, we had come to merely tolerate each other. It seemed to be easier than getting a divorce.
"Let's go" I said wearily as I entered the livingroom and got my coat and purse.