Cheeky

№ 11. Love Is Love

There's something fascinating about picturing the whole world upside down. Or in my case, hanging off the edge of the couch with my forehead practically touching the floor, and peering out in extreme boredom. Maybe the floor wasn't really the floor at all, maybe the ceiling was. And we were all just walking around the wrong way, not knowing which was up or down. It all made so much sense. Well, after being in this position for longer than five minutes, a lot of things started to come together in the oddest of ways. This couldn't be healthy.

A pair of feet that couldn't be more than a size six with ten perfectly painted toenails appeared before my nose. I scrunched my face in distaste at the close proximity.

"Get up lazy."

I craned my neck until my hair swept the floor to see Chelsea looking down at me. She was wearing a bright, bedazzled red hairband that had the gaudiest amount of hearts sticking out of it. She also wore a tank top that read "I Love Nerds," and her lips were stained a rosy pink to match.

It's Valentine's Day.

Ugh.

"Why?" I whined as I suddenly became fascinated with my fingertips. I've been upside down for too long - blood is rushing.

She poked at my stomach and I couldn't help but giggle uncontrollably as my knees tucked in defense and my feet flapped ungracefully, "Because, you need to help me set up for this party."

I frowned - I don't like parties. Especially ones that surround the most annoying, consumer based, chocolate-selling holiday on Earth. Plus, I couldn't feel more single than at this moment, on this day, of this month.

"In the apartment? But...I just painted the walls."

Chelsea rolled her eyes, "In your bedroom, yeah. What will it have to do with the party?"

I rolled over onto my side and lifted my head back onto the armrest of the couch, "I don't want anyone scratching anything...or breathing on it the wrong way..."

Chelsea rose an eyebrow, "Prude."

I shot upright in protest, "You are the second person to have called me that!"

"And good reason for it! That person was giving you advice."

About to rebuttal, I stopped myself. So George was giving me advice? First of all, his "advice" was directed towards me showing off my lady bits, while Chelsea was speaking of letting loose and getting down. Getting down, that sounds unsanitary. Holy crap - I am a prude. It's as if I'd rather spend my evenings washing my hands and sipping warm teas. I even bought four different kinds of soap the other day - I have a problem.

"Where do you want to set up the booze?"

Chelsea grinned, and in return, I felt a great party coming.

Two hours later, I was atop a ladder hanging heart banners while Chelsea ran around throwing paper maiche cupids on any bare surface. My furniture had been delivered two days ago, about a week after George had helped me paint my bedroom walls. It was still strange what had happened, and I couldn't stop thinking about what he had said, both about my looks combined with red and my personality. Not having a boyfriend for more than five months could make a girl's self-esteem plummet substantially, and in my case, I think that was dilemma. But why should I have to rely on a boy to make me feel good about myself? I'm smart, I think I'm a solid eight in the looks department, and as far as personality, I was no dark cloud like Nick was on a bad day.

There we go, I don't need a significant other, male of course, to be good enough for everyone else. I was good enough on my own, no, I was stupendous on my own. This was great, this was healthy - self-therapy; both effective and affordable. And the party would be in three hours. Chelsea and I still hadn't bought the booze or dressed up, or ordered pizza, or bought the booze. Things are getting hectic.