Bad Taste in Wigs
One wild night in a sequined dress and a terrible wig, I found myself in the backseat of a stranger's car, having the best sex of my life. Now, that stranger is my new boss, holding onto my pink lace panties and acting like he's never seen me before. My world is about to get a whole lot more complicated, and I'm not sure my job - or my sanity - will survive.
The pounding in my head was a brutal reminder of the night before. Rolling out of bed, I felt like I’d been pushed off a cliff. The sequined dress was itchy, and a moment of pure panic hit me when I realized I wasn't wearing any underwear.
Running late for work was the least of my problems. Trying to scrape off the thick, glittery make-up felt like a losing battle, especially the atrocious 'Marilyn wig' that had somehow become painfully tangled in my hair.
After a painful struggle, the wig was off, and I surveyed the damage. My twenty-year-old Toyota was protesting, just another thing adding to my list of worries. I had to get to work, not just for myself, but for Katie. My job was everything.
