My last post centered upon my insane former cleaning woman, and poked gentle fun at her trip to
(What?! I’m not made of stone!)
It seems that I had to learn a lesson for this grievous transgression. And where better for the lesson to take place than in my favorite place on earth, the subway?
After picking up my iced coffee and heading downtown this morning, I noticed with some surprise that a lot of men were staring at my chestal region. (Surprising, since there’s really not much going on in that vicinity.) I finally thought to look down, and noticed a splotch of iced coffee on my formerly-pristine white button-down shirt. Smashing! I had paired the (now-stained) shirt with a black pinstriped pencil skirt that, unbeknownst to me, had grown a bit too big on me, and was now shifting with each step I took, so that the back pocket kept finding its way to the front.
Needless to say, I painted quite the pretty picture.
I made it through the day, and hopped on the subway to go home. Now, the subway is generally incredibly crowded, but today was even worse then usual. I’m talking imprint-of-someone-else’s-ass-on-your-back crowded. In my case, the ass in question happened to belong to a douchebag. He was trying to impress his date (note: WHY ARE YOU TAKING A DATE ON THE SUBWAY AT RUSH HOUR?!), telling her about his recent bonus, with which he’d purchased his “fine Italian suit” (no, really; those were his words) and encouraging her to touch the fine Italian suit. He then complained in wounded tones about the other subway passengers bumping up against him (I assume he included me in this), and rumpling his fine Italian suit. Oh! And the best part? He told his date with mock humility/annoyance that he’d had to go back to the tailor a few times to get the arms of the suit refitted because he’d been working out so much.
While mentally rolling my eyes, we arrived at the next station, and the wearer of the fine Italian suit and his date began to push their way off the train.
Now at this point, I believe you need a visual of our respective positions to fully understand what happened next.
As you can see, we were sort of standing on top of each other. As they made their way off, one of the jacket buttons of the gentleman's fine Italian suit somehow got hooked onto one of my skirt’s belt loops. As I’d mentioned, this skirt was big on me. I should have also mentioned that the closure was simply a zipper…which can very easily get pulled open, should the skirt be tugged in any way.
Which it was, by this guy's jacket button.
I noticed the problem right away, but he was totally oblivious to the fact that his jacket was caught on my skirt. I tried desperately to free myself from the fine Italian suit, but to no avail. Finally, without turning around, he wrenched his jacket towards him…
Causing my skirt’s zipper to fly open, and the belt loop to rip, like so…
The entire skirt then spun around…
…and for one (mercifully brief) second, actually dipped below the bootay region.
As for what I was wearing, let’s just say that Sisqo would love me.
Did I mention that there were teenagers on the subway who were on their way home from camp or something? Because there were. I don't think they really saw anything, (at least I hope that they didn't), but I definitely heard giggles.
Message received, Karma. You win this round.
UPDATE: Your comments made me realize that I didn't properly finish my story. The guy finally turned around, and said "What the fucking hell?!" You know, like I was purposely finding clever ways of attaching myself to his suit. What a douche.OH! And after posting this, wherein I indirectly whine about the subways, what do you think happened today? Seriously. My feet are still on fire from my subway-less trek uptown. I'm beginning to think that I may have magical powers. I'll do my best to use them only for good.