I thought you should know that lately, when I write from home, I write in bed, usually right before I go to sleep at night, wearing a tanktop and underwear. On the weekends, I write in the morning, still in bed, but wrapped in a bedsheet. Lest you get excited, it doesn’t look anything like this:
For me, try something like “Jabba the Hut wearing a windsock”. I’d post a picture of that but there is none. My extensive Googling didn’t yield a picture of Jabba wearing a windsock but maybe if enough people read this post somebody will get the hint and make me an image with MS Paint.
I had some errands to run Saturday before the baby shower, so I was on a bus heading home from the Loop when I saw this. A man and a woman kissing a few times — mwah mwah mwah — and then she gets on the bus and he does not.
They look pretty
horny loved up for a Saturday morning, so I thought it was weird that she was getting on the bus by herself. If they were so tight, why wasn’t he putting her in a cab that he, ideally, would be paying for? What was this bus business? Did he at last pay for her ride with his bus pass?
A few friends weighed in via Twitter and Facebook, and they all seemed to come to same conclusion: chivalry is most likely dead, or at the very least dormant. I’m anxious for a return to romance, or at least the chance of car fare after a hookup.
Tonight, I took myself out to dinner after some plans with a friend fell through at the last minute. I could have walked to dinner, but as the bus was right there, I figured I’d get on to see if there were any characters riding it that might provide me with some light pre-dinner entertainment.
A young woman with long dark hair sat in a window seat, a pair of almost comically oversized sunglasses on her head. The effect was rather exotic, actually. A man who sat a few rows ahead of her leaned back towards here and leered.
“You got a boyfriend?” He licked his lips.
“Uh, yeah. I do.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” He leans even further. “Hey, can you take your glasses off?”
“Aw, please? I just want to see your eyes! Can I see your eyes?”
She just shakes her head, pulls her purse up in front of her chest.
Dude just peers at her, like he’s committing her face to memory, then gets up from his seat. He doesn’t ease into the seat next to her like I thought he would. He finds a seat in the back where I can only guess he found another lady to creep out with his smooth moves.
Years and years ago, Jacinda and I took two buses and a train to the Music Box to see Office Killer, which was necessary when you lived in Hyde Park in the
mid late 90’s. We transferred from the red line to the brown line at State and Lake, which was freezing. We kept warm under the heaters, which always have the worst fluorescent lighting and is therefore an enemy to lady el train riders everywhere.
While we smoked on the platform, an older gentleman shuffled up to me and intimated that the shape and size of my booty might be conducive to the two of us “getting it on”. When I replied in the negative, he didn’t seem put off. I guess I should be grateful that, unlike the bus dude I mentioned earlier, he did not demand to see it.