Slutty Shut-in

Summer was hot and endless. Halloween, people were still wearing shorts and sleeveless shirts. Then again, it’s not the holiday for clothes. You’re either a slutty devil or a slutty angel—no in-between.

But this morning I awoke shivering. The wood floor creaked under my feet like old bones. The furnace whined as I turned the dial on the thermostat to a toasty 75 degrees.

Sudden changes in the weather like this, people get sick. People are already sick…

But I can’t say for certain this transition to fall was so swift. I haven’t left the house much. However, today I decide to sit on the porch with a mug of hot cinnamon tea and a book about finding Christmas romance, because who doesn’t love that sappy stuff this time of year?

When I step outside in my nightie that stops inches above my knees and a silk robe that’s even shorter, a gust of wind immediately hits my face, and the autumn leaves that blanket my yard swirl around me.

I look up at the naked trees as they lend me their clothes, but I tell them, “I’m too dry to be slutty.”

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