Virgin Lips

11. If you sleep with a pig, you get what comes with it

Why. Why, why, why does it have to be dresses? Why can't it be just new jeans and shirts? What's this dictatorship where a woman isn't a woman unless she's exposing her skin? Why does it have to be dresses? I thought we'd reached enough equality for me not be forced into a dress. There's pantsuits, you know, and a woman can look good even wearing just large clothes that hide pretty much everything. But dresses! Dresses hide nothing! Especially not those that Valerie seemed keen on torturing me with.

"You ready, Joanna?" She yelled from outside the dressing booth.

Of course I wasn't not ready. How could I be ready. The dresses she gave me were for totally different people. This isn't me, not in the slightest, tiniest, flimsiest bit.

"JoJo, come on, let's see." Ben called.

I sighed, trying to make myself as small as possible. My face was as red as a tomato. It's a miracle that I shave regularly due to my work uniform, even though I always wear either leggings or thick stockings with it. But a dress! A dress without stockings, revealing my ultra-imperfect pale skin! That's just not going to happen, no, no.

"JoJo?" Ben called again, this time a bit closer, "are you dressed?"

"Not yet."

"You sure?"

What do you mean, am I sure? How can someone not be sure whether she's dressed or not?

"Joanna, either you come out, or I come in. You pick." Ben claimed, probably stern for the very first time, which did surprise me, but it also scared the hell out of me; because by now I know him enough to be 100% he would keep his word and come into the booth. I couldn't allow that.

Heaving a deep sigh, and trying to pull in as much of my chubbiness as possible, I grabbed the curtain, and opened it. I felt like I was boiling, so my face was surely inventing new shades of red, and my armpits were beginning to cry profusely. Long, agonizing, moments of silence followed.
Then, Ben cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, looking perplexed. Valerie's eyes were on him, seeking approval. "That's-uh ..." he blinked his eyes, "that's ... that's a lot of pink, Val ..."

"Yes!" She screamed excited, finally turning to look at me. "Do you love it or do you adore it?!"

I loathe it? Hate it? Abhor it? I think this dressed should be prosecuted for crimes against humanity?

Ben bit his lips, eyes still well focused on me, but I could see clearly that he was trying to repress a chuckle. I guess I looked that bad that he was dying to just laugh of me.

"So?!" Valerie asked, impatient.

He grimaced as he turned to her. "Val ..." he bit his bottom lip again, "Joanna hates pink."

I do? I mean, yes, I do. But how does he know that? Well, he did ask me once what was my favorite color and I said I don't really care for colors, it's everyone except pink and purple, and I love black and white. But ... I didn't think he would remember. Who actually remembers what people tell them? Answers to those silly routine questions like what's your favorite color even!

"Oh." Valerie's excited smile faded away, only to be replaced by a disappointed frown. It looked as if Ben had just offended her in the worst possible way.

"I mean ... don't get me wrong, it's a nice dress," he mended, I guess seeing as much as I that her heart had been broken in a thousand pieces, "it's just not ... her. I mean ... JoJo wouldn't wear something like that, and the whole point of this is to make her comfortable in her own skin." He gave her a sweet smile. "You do remember how this process goes, don't you?" They exchanged meaningful looks. Clearly, I missed some secret reminiscence.