And someday, she’ll be a classic.But I decided with the chance of rain or snow minimal; it would be a good day to let my baby cheer me up.The drive to work was really fun. I love everything about my car. I love the way it drives, the way it sounds and even the way it carves through turns. Turning is effortless in the car. It’s as if we’re connected and all I have to do is think about it and the car does it.I’ve even come to love the pony hop. The hop is the way the car’s ass end bounces when you go over a bump. I have a couple of friends who are race car drivers who told me that they actually prefer the old suspension. They claim it’s faster off the line.Anyway, I got to work with a smile on my face and quickly lost it. To be honest it wasn’t work ... Or my coworkers that were responsible for my shitty mood. It was the calendar. I’d awakened that morning and realized that it was exactly two years three months and fourteen days since Sharon had disappeared.That is significant because. None of those men who were gathered around and obviously enjoying the show could possibly look at me and think that I was doing this of my own free will. The fact that I was doing something like this against my will, at least to my mind, made me even more vulnerable. This wasn't good.I finally came to my senses and realized that standing there worrying about it was just prolonging the agony. I removed my skirt and tried on the first of the three dresses. There wasn't much to it. It consisted of a tiny skirt and a top that was nothing more than two sheer scarves that rose up from the waist, just barely covered my breasts and fastened behind my neck.The skirt was so short that my panties peeked out from under the hem in back. There was a six inch gap between the narrow strips of sheer material that rose up from my waist to more or less cover my breasts. I looked at myself in the mirror.I hated what I saw. I was looking at far too much of me. But I knew that it was the sort of thing.
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