Two glasses of wine and several sheets of paper later, I was done. It had been harder than I thought to dream up my fantasy guy. Well, to put him on paper, at least. I hadn’t had a lot of experience with men, having had an affair in college that had led me to my current existence, namely: being-scared-to-ever-let-myself-be-that-vulnerable-again. But I rallied, writing traits I thought would be nice down on the paper. By the end, I was exhausted.
The evening ended after we filled what the author called, our “love vesicles.”
“Sounds nasty,” Tina giggled.
“Shh,” LouAnne said. She’d become quite serious while we were writing. Seems she’d become a believer. At least for the night.
The vesicles were the pouches that we filled with sweet smelling herbs. We were all a little tired at this point. Tina spilled the contents of her vesicle three times before Casie helped. “You have to tie it off though, Tina, to make it truly yours,” Casie told her, holding a piece of red ribbon.
“Thank you,” Tina said, tying the ribbon and then holding the bag against her heart.
“Now ladies,” Casie said, “take your love vesicle and your love letter and put them both beneath your pillow tonight. Then keep them there for three days—”
“Three full days?” LouAnne asked. “Because you know, it’s late, or early.” She looked at her wristwatch. “It’s already Saturday.”
Casie smiled. “Good point, LouAnne. Keep them there until Tuesday evening. By then, your love potion number nine will be done.”