Page 50 of Light Up The Night
"I'd agree, except for what science boy discovered," I say.
She frowns. "I hesitate to ask, but…what did he discover?"
"Well, after the fifteen months or whatever it was, he tested the bacteria level in the jeans, washed them, wore them for two weeks, and then tested them again." I pause for dramatic effect. "The difference in bacteria levels was negligible."
She looks away, visibly turning the information over in her brain. "Hmmmm. That is an interesting and unexpected result. Bacterial levels do not equate to hygiene and odor, however, nor how visibly soiled the item might be. After fifteen months without being washed, I cannot imagine those jeans smelled very good, regardless of the presence or absence of bacteria.”
I laugh. "That did occur to me. But my point is that you don't need to wash jeans after every wear, or even after a few, unless they're visibly dirty, stained, or smelly. And to be clear, Idowash my jeans regularly. Just not, like, frequently. These don'tlookorsmelldirty, do they?"
She shrugs and shakes her head. "No, they do not." She indicates the jeans I'm wearing with a flick of her finger. "You will still never catch me in denim."
I cup her arm, sliding my hand from elbow to shoulder. "So, when I do that? How does it make you feel, or react?"
She shudders. "I enjoy it." She frowns, thinking. “It is…a frisson."
"Don't know what that means."
"A brief, intense physical reaction to an emotional stimulus," she says, again sounding like she's quoting from memory. "When you listen to music and it strikes an intense emotional chord within you and experience a piloerective response, often accompanied by a shiver or shudder."
"Pee-loh-what?" I ask.
"Piloerective response. Goosebumps."
"So you're saying you have an intense physical response to me touching you?" I ask.
She nods. "Yes. I do."
"But a good one?"
Another nod. "Yes. Most unusually, I might add. It is…somewhat disconcerting, I must say. My whole life, I have been largely disconnected from my body, primarily as a defensive response to my sensory issues."
"I guess I don't totally understand what you mean by sensory issues."
She sighs. “It is an aspect of autism and ADHD. It manifests in a variety of ways from person to person, and can be just about anything. For some, it's bright lights and loud noises—these things bother everyone to a degree, but for someone with ASD or ADHD, it is markedly more intense. A decibel level that is normal and acceptable to you might be overwhelming to the point of physical pain to the neurodivergent individual. A bright sunny day may be wonderful to you, but that same sunny day might be agony to the autistic person. It can be specific things, such as crunchy foods or slimy things, or the scent of diesel exhaust, or the flavor of mint. For me, it is rough textures, generally. Denim against my skin, in particular. The scratchy type of wool is another personal example, although I do quitelike merino wool and cashmere. I dislike constrictive clothing—cuffed sweatpants, tight skirts or dresses, tight leggings."
"So you don't wear yoga pants?" I ask.
"No. The material is soft, but they are too tight. It feels like my lower half is suffocating." She sniffs a laugh. "Why do you look…disappointed?"
I laugh out loud. "Because that fine ass of yours would look pretty fuckin' stunning in a pair of yoga pants."
She blushes, averts her gaze from mine. "Riley, my goodness. You seem to have a fixation with my backside."
“Yup.”
"I am sorry to disappoint you, then, because that is something you will never see." Her smile is…teasing.
"Your ass, or your ass in yoga pants?" I ask. "Just clarifying…for a friend."
"You refer to yourself, I believe?" she says.
"Yeah, babe."
"I was jesting," she says, arching an eyebrow and smiling at me. "I left the statement intentionally vague."
"Are you teasin' me, Cadence Creswell?" I demand, sidling closer to her, smoothing my hands down over her hips.
"That was the intent, yes," she murmurs. "The truth of the matter, however, is that you will never see me in a pair of yoga pants. I do not own any, and will not."
