24 Hours In The Life...

Tuesday after class I am walking to the train wearing a pink tank top, that I have worn so many times that the straps are frayed. I walked past a couple of bums watching me and I hear "shit...damn....ummmmm...whew..." and I'm feeling good until I hear, "...she ain't got no titty!...ain't never seen a woman that flat...." Trauma! Mainly because I had worn the shirt a million times and quite frankly thought it was flattering, and apparently it was FLATtering! I curbed my urge to cover myself up and look down at my ninnies and say, "they didn't mean it, they're just a couple of nasty mean old drunk men!" And I resisted the opposite urge to expose myself to them and say, "you owe these girls an apology!" No, I took my dignity and walked on.

The next morning, I overslept, threw on clothes and raced for the ferry. I saw that it was about to pull off, so I ran harder. Miraculously enough, it stopped and waited for me. Which it rarely does because it carries a few hundred people, so why make them wait for one person? Everyone stared at me including the captain and men who take the tickets that did a double take. I was thinking "yeah, you had to wait a few seconds on me, quit staring and get over it."

It was about half way into the ride that I noticed it was windier than usual...yes, almost chilly...you know where I'm going with this. I had left my strategic button undone. You know the one directly between your ninnies... the one that left undone creates a peep window effect? Yeah, that one.

After work, I stop by Sephora on my way to do a play reading. The curious hound-dog in me that has to sniff and sample all tester products within reach, went to work. (I don't know why I do this, but if something near me has a 'tester' sticker on it, I'll test it. It doesn't matter what it is. If there was a tester product labeled "makes you smell like cat piss for 5 days straight" I'd smell it.) Anyway, after passing the sniff test, I decided that I needed to try out some of the new "shimmer foundation." Which is odd because I don't even wear foundation. Anyway, I hold my hand out, spray it on my hand, it ricochets off and goes right for the left breast! Next thing I know I'm standing in the middle of Sephora spraying water on my bosom, and scrubbing with a napkin that is disintegrating. The good news is that when I do need foundation, I have found a brand that lives up to the label and absolutely does not come off, under any circumstance.

So that's 24 hours in the life of a boob - publicly insulted, exposed, sprayed, and showered.