The raindrops turned into a thousand little stars on my window as we passed under streetlights. I stared past them, as many questions in my mind as there were twinkling spots of light on my window. What if I mess up? What if I say something wrong? Or do something wrong? What if they don't like me? What if I embarrass Daddy?
"What if I embarrass you, Daddy?" this time out loud, but I'm still staring into the night.
"Baby girl, you won't embarrass me." His voice is steady and calm. I turn to look at him. His eyes are straight ahead. He's relaxed and confident. Geez! It's like he never gets rattled.
I give a quick rub of my palms against the fabric of my overcoat and fan my hands to dry them. I try to concentrate on breathing: slowly in through the nose, slow and steady out through the mouth.
"What if they can tell I'm inexperienced and I do something stupid and they think I'm naΓ―ve? What if I'm not pretty enough? What if they think I'm hideous? What if my cellulite disgusts them? What if they hate me?" All my insecurities and anxieties are swirling in my head and tumbling out of my mouth as we roll to a stop for a red light.
This time Daddy turns his shoulders when he faces me. Even in the low light, I can see that his face is stern, his eyes sharp. Uh-oh. "That's my Baby Girl you're talking about. Don't EVER put down my Baby Girl." The message is clear: Don't talk bad about his Baby Girl. Even if you are said Baby Girl.
"Ok, Daddy. I'm sorry."
His mouth quirks into a smile. "You look amazing, Baby Girl. Every bit of you is perfect. Stop worrying. I've got you."
Daddy's got you. Stop worrying. You look fine. Remember, Daddy picked out this outfit. He knows it's the right thing to wear to the club. He will be right beside you. He will answer your questions. You asked him to bring you, remember? Relax. Daddy's got this.