Brat, undercover

I don't want to divulge ALL of my secrets. But I'd like to make a confession here: I am an undercover brat. Most people would not describe me as such; it's a bit more camouflaged than the typical stick-my-tongue-out-and-run behavior of some successful brats I've met. That's just not me.

I prefer to brat and get away with it.

Actually, that's not entirely true. My true preference is to brat and get called on it by a man astute enough to detect the brattiness.

The thrill for me comes in wondering whether my attitude will go undetected or ignored.

It may be as simple as making a drink for my Dom that contains more ice than beverage. Or as innocuous as saying I will call at a certain time and wait an extra 5 minutes, phone in hand while I watch the clock tick past the appointed time. One of my favorites is to wear complicated underthings, lots of layers, that make the unveiling process difficult.

The danger of my brand of bratting? Well, I'm blonde so I suffer from stereotypically blonde moments which can be mistaken for insolence. And it's awfully hard to convince a man who is sold on my intelligence that I REALLY did send that email to the wrong person by mistake. (Funny story there.) Or to convince him that I REALLY didn't notice I was wearing a shirt, a tank top, a corset-thing AND a bra. Or that I REALLY didn't notice his drink was all vodka, that I had a momentary lapse and forgot to add the 7-up.

The end result? Well, either way, if I land over a firm set of knees, it's all good.