I was nervous, and because I was, I changed into my PJs, exactly as I normally would’ve. Which made Karen look at me with astonishment and ask, “Aren’t you supposed to, like, dress up if a guy’s coming over? Maybe you want to put on some mustache bleaching cream while you’re at it.” “I do not have a mustache. And anyway,” I tried to explain, “Hemi’s coming into our place. Into our special night. He’s seeing my real life for once, and I need to know that he can be OK with that. I’m not glamorous, and I don’t have a glamorous life, and it’s just too hard to pretend I do.” I stopped, sighed, and pulled the mesh bag with my hand washing from its hook. I was way behind on laundry, and I wasn’t going to have anything to wear the rest of the week if I didn’t do something about it. “I mean, like this,” I said, hefting the bag. “Behold my life. I guess I just need to know I can be myself, because being anybody else is going to get too exhausting.
