Of Human Bondage

The strangest thing happened last night.

I poured myself into my little teal corset, pulled my hair back in a sloppy chignon, slipped on the stiletto black heels that make my legs look like they go on forever, and went to meet T at the bar.

In case you're wondering, yes, the wardrobe description DOES have something to do with this post, thank you very much. I don't always need to take up your time telling you how smokin' hot I am.

Ya'll should know that by now, anyway. ; )

Anyway, there we are, sitting up at the bar. I had a black blazer on over the corset, and it was warm, so I took it off and slung it over the back of my bar stool (the kinds that swivel. Don't you just love those? I always want to just dangle my feet and twirl in circles).

And T and I are deeply engrossed in that initial 'getting to know each other' talk--where are you from, what have you been doing, etc.--when this little man comes up out of nowhere.

And he says to me, "Excuse me, where did you get that corset you're wearing?"

And T turns and looks at him because obviously he was my escort, and he's thinking this man is being disrespectful. I was a little put off, myself, but I told him I had picked it up at such and such shop.

And this man--he was old enough to be my father--just started beaming.

And he says, "I thought so. It's one of mine!"

No, he wasn't a cross-dresser. Turns out he actually designed the corset I was wearing that very evening!

Isn't that bizarre?

Anyway, he gave me his business card, so I could check out his stuff. And I think T was still wondering if this was a come-on or something. But I honestly think this man was just so excited to see someone wearing one of his designs. It's like when you are a writer, and you sit down at a table and someone across the room is reading your book.

It gave us something to talk about for a while, anyway.