It was Dixon. And facing him, with appalling nakedness, was my butt. I met his gaze in the mirror, then whirled around so he couldn’t see how big my ass was, which of course meant it was reflected back to him.
“Eek!” I said, unable to think of any actual words. My hands went first to cover my boobs, then my crotch, and then finally behind me to my butt. I couldn’t decide what I wanted to cover more, so my hands fluttered back and forth for a few seconds.
“Sorry. I thought... I was supposed to get fitted... Sorry,” he stammered, and spun around to march out of the room.
“And there goes Mr. Right,” I said with a sigh, knowing that I’d just lost any chance I ever had with him. Not that I really had a chance—or for that matter wanted one—but still, it dinged my pride to know that he found me so repugnant he couldn’t even be bothered to ogle my boobs.
I looked down at the girls and sighed again. I had a feeling the monthlong race was going to end up feeling more like half a year.
JOURNAL OF DIXON AINSLEY
20 July
9:44 a.m.
New York City
I’m not quite sure how to start this. Or why I’m doing it, other than that it will be a good way to track expenses. And I suppose experiences.
JOURNAL OF DIXON AINSLEY
20 July
9:46 a.m.
New York City
I suppose I could write down my expenses. That would be a reasonable thing to track.
Expenses to date:
One journal, bought in hotel gift shop, $15
Three-pack of pens (black), same, $7
I guess that’s really the sum total of my expenses, since the production company is paying for lodging and food. I don’t know what else to write.
JOURNAL OF DIXON AINSLEY
20 July
10:13 a.m.
New York City
The weather is nice. Very sunny. Heard it’s raining back home.
JOURNAL OF DIXON AINSLEY
20 July
10:14 a.m.
New York City
Maybe this journal thing isn’t for me. I can’t think of anything more to talk about.
What I just wrote looks so lame. I wish I knew how people did this.
