Oh, Cecelia . . you're breaking my face

While on72nd and Broadway this morning, I fielded a phonecall from Tim and stopped at a coffee truck for coffee and a donut. God, I love donuts. And bacon. And boobs. I digress. The coffee guy looked at me funny, with a certain sort of knowing sympathy. He handed me my bag o coffee and donut and said "Please have a good day." He was so tender, so gentle, so worried.

It occurred to me as I was walking away: I had just had twenty-five minutes of electrolysis done on my face. After these sessions, my face swells up, turns red and I look like a beaten housewife for about an hour. Of course, that being said, why didn't I get my donut and cup of joe for free?

Now I shall broach a topic of greater import: the I-might-be-getting-laid apartment readying. In recent months, I have gone over to a boy's apartment to find it immaculate. Bed made, shiny floors, tasteful decor, artwork framed and hanging perfectly (something I can't master, even with a level. Thanks for nothing, five years at the Bombay Company!), etc. Although I am a neat and tidy woman, there's the ever-present pile of books, the lint in my new rug, the occasional toothpaste splatter on the bathroom mirror,the dishwasher that needs to be emptied. Now, men, if you're just looking to get laid, I know these things don't matter . . but if you like a girl, will you hold it against her if you get to her door for the first time and says "give me exactly three minutes" while she hides the vibrator, the self-help books, tampons, porn, collage that she made a la the Artists Way to visualize her goals, happy pills, sleeping pills, anti-anxiety pills and the five or six outfits that she thought about wearing to meet you but instead ended up on her bed?