"Gert," she stated in her firmest drill sergeant voice, "You really, really, really are finished with even thinking about this relationship crap for good. You are DONE soldier. Do you hear what I'm saying to you soldier!? Done!" She meant it, and for the first time in a month Gert felt like herself again; she was lean, mean, and in control. She had plans to go to a live fall concert with friends next weekend (all women), and she was pretty sure she was going to be moving up at work, getting an assistant of her own. At least that was the word.
The next couple of weeks flew by for Gert, with stylist appointments, shopping, cleaning her house, fall yard work, and the beautiful change in seasons she was herself again. It never seemed to take her long to grieve. It helped a woman to help herself she believed. She got a cut little spike done to her pixie, and had her tips done blond. She had her nails and make-up done in a Goth fashion, considering she was still just a little pissed. She also hooked herself up with leather shorts and halter, thigh high stilettos, fishnet stockings, and a matching cropped leather jacket. All her jewelry fit her mood, and she felt free and good, and she fully intended to drown what was left of her sorrow and have a blast.