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A Hot Mess

A Hot Mess

  • A Penthouse Letter by P.T., Alabama

Being that it had been the first warmish day of spring, I’d worn a yellow dress and high heels to the office. Heels Isaac liked. I was home for the evening, but digging through my desk for a file I needed for work, when he asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“Not sure,” I told him. I was distracted and a little frantic.

“Hey, slow down.”

“Isaac!” I snapped, pushing files around on the messy desktop.

“Yes, love?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just missing something I need.”

“If only you could find it.”

I sighed and said, “Yes, if only.”

He stared pointedly at my cluttered desk and asked, “Wasn’t the goal to keep this thing neat?”

...
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