i'm wearing fresh outta the dryer denim.
i strut around finding something to top it off.
finding every mirror on the way there.
black polka-dot silk for my mature, dark chica look.
so i get it on.
slip into my "who's that girl?" suit.
quickly create a playlist of the right sounds.
so i can put it all together on a hot note.
stepping to some club beat in my heels.
while i run a blush brush across my face.
vodka diet half-full on the counter.
i'm optimistic about the night.
how obsessed i get pre-dance floor.
hands frantically adjusting.
hair with some urban-like edge.
shaking shows my glitter and dangle.
i turn around in the mirror times ten.
yeah, this is gonna be a good night.
i can barely fit my hands in my pockets.
candy apple red glows on my nails.
top 40 hip-hop on the speakers work.
my signatures are set for performance.
a pirouette in a cloud of ralph lauren romance.
clutch under my arm as i call a cab.
enough singles to get a lap dance in pocket.