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Glancing nervously in the mirror for at least the fiftieth time this evening, I make minor adjustments here and there on my outfit. I feel so out of my element. My room mate Krissy has set me up on a blind date with a guy she knows from work. She chose this outfit for me to wear. A tight, very short black skirt, the hem of which ends just a couple of inches below my silky black thong panties, and a red button down shirt, which she has rolled the sleeves up and undone the first four buttons, exposing a bit of my cleavage and the very top of my black lacy bra. The bottom ends of the shirt are tied together, instead of being buttoned all the way down, this shows off my flat stomach with it's pierced navel. I feel totally sexy, but also very apprehensive about actually going out of the apartment dressed like this. "If the people at work coud see me now!" I think to myself. This is so unlike me, especially the blind date. I haven't been on a date in at least a year, turning down all men who ask. This has earned me the title of "Ice Princess". It took many weeks of pestering from my room mate to get me to agree with this. "Let's have a look at that face," Krissy says. "Definitely more mascara . . . and a darker shade of lipgloss." She says, busily adding the final touches to my already, in my opinion, overdone face. "And you need to loosen up, stop being so critical of every guy you meet. If you look for something to be wrong with them, you'll find it. Don't settle for anything less than what you want, but realize that the perfect man does not exist." She should know, I smile to myself . . .she's tried enough of them. She offers to take me to the coffee house that I'm supposed to meet this ...

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