I applied my lip gloss and checked myself over in the mirror. I felt unattractive and uncomfortable. I was at least five pounds overweight and rather homely. A far cry from the vivacious beach babe I was in my younger days. My wardrobe consisted mostly of loose fitting black tops and yoga pants. My outfit for the night was far from inspiring. At age twenty-six I had the appearance of a tired house wife that had thrown in the towel long ago. I had found myself in a four year relationship with a DJ by the name of Pete. I wouldn’t exactly call it the best four years of my life. We argued constantly and he was a serial cheater. I lived the life of a bored housewife as well while he went out every weekend to play at nightclubs. Most nights he didn't even bother to come home. I masked my unhappiness by binge drinking. The problem with being in a miserable relationship and being miserable all the time yourself, is that no one really wants to hang around you. I had moved from my parents home in Rockaway Beach to a small Brooklyn apartment with Pete. All my friends were his friends. I was growing restless in our tiny apartment. I dreaded kissing Pete hello and smelling perfume on him that wasn’t mine. There was a point my boredom reached its peak so I contacted an old friend. Angela had a reputation as a party girl and a whore. Any time we had gone out together it was to meet up with a group of guys. I myself, have always been rather prude. I had only been in three relationships in my life and each were dreadfully long. I had already given up hope for any type of whirlwind romance and my sex life was vanilla to say the least. Watching Angela dance and flirt with a different guy every weekend was about as much action as I got.