Yesterday started out as a lovely day, weather-wise. For the most part, June has been a bit of a washout here in Massachusetts, and it was a welcome relief to watch the sun rise over the city as B and I drove in for a morning run. Since we live so far outside of the city, it's not possible for me to go home to shower after each run before I have to head into work. And at first I was all "no big deal, I don't mind working in my running clothes." But then after a few days sitting in my own sweat and walking around the office trailed with the scent of eue de nasty, my office-mates were all "don't be silly, you can shower at my place." And I was all "I don't want to put you out." And they were all, "WE INSIST." So now I shower at one of my co-worker's apartments before we head into the office together. One point for personal hygiene.
And here's the problem with that: it involves a bit of planning ahead. Limited planning, I'll grant you, but planning none the less. This planning is in the form of packing a bag the night before with everything I'll need for work the next day. A matching outfit, shoes, makeup, jewelry, etc. This sounds simple, but if I ever make it to work with everything I need, I'm going to consider it a MONUMENTAL success. One day I forgot to throw in my makeup bag. Another day I forgot all my jewelry. Another day I didn't have any shampoo. I'm quite certain that within time, I'll one day pack everything except my clothes.
Usually I "pack" the night before, but we were out late at a family party on Tuesday. And in my harried state of packing at 4:30 a.m. on Wednesday, I forgot to pack perhaps the most important element of all. I had my makeup. I had my dress. I had my jewelry. I had my shoes. I even had my bra. But I forgot to pack my underwear.
Meh. Could be worse. I'd much rather spend the day free-ballin' than walking around my office without a bra. 'Cause that would just be awkward. The only problem with prancing around without any underwear while wearing a dress however, is the slight shock to the system you get every time a slight breeze comes through. Helloooooo, world! Once you get used to that though, it's kind of nice. Like running through a field of poppies with your arms thrown open and a slight breeze on your face. Only in this case, your face is your va-jay-jay.
The day passed uneventfully though, and I'm fairly confident none of my office mates realized that I was walking around in a near constant state paranoia of somehow exposing my lady bits.
And at the end of the day, as I headed towards the door expecting to walk out into the sunshine, I opened the doors and found dark skies, gusty winds, and pouring rain. Thanks, Massachusetts weather. You're a real asshole sometimes.
I had no umbrella and even if I did, it would likely have been too difficult to navigate my 10 minute walk to the bus stop holding an umbrella and balancing three bags on my shoulders while trying to keep one hand free to hold my dress down to prevent it from flying up with every burst of wind and exposing my pale lily ass to all of East 1st Street.
So I hobbled down the street, swearing like a motherflipper and becoming more miserable by the second. By the time I got to the bus stop, I was drenched. And here's the thing about this particular bus stop. The schedule says it passes every 10 minutes. This is bullshit. The bus comes to my stop every 20 minutes. The route is split about a block before. Meaning every 10 minutes, the bus turns the block before my stop and circles around a back route to get to the train station. And every other bus goes straight down the street to the same destination. As I was walking down the street, I saw a bus go down the block for the alternate route, so I knew the next bus would pass my stop.
Ten minutes of waiting in the rain go by. I see the bus approaching. Finally. But then, I see the bus driver put the turn signal on. NO NO NO. He's supposed to go straight. He's supposed to hit MY stop next. The LAST bus went that way. THIS bus should go THIS way. After 10 minutes of walking in the rain followed by another 10 minutes of standing in the rain, there was no way in HELL I wasn't getting on this bus. So I hike up my bags, sprinted across the busy street dodging cars like Frogger and waving my arms at the bus as I'm all "oh no you DON'T motherfucker." I would have rolled over car hoods, bulldozed children, knocked over senior citizens, ANYTHING to get on this bus.
As I reach the center of the intersection, I lock eyes with the bus driver. HALLELUJAH. He sees me! He's going to stop! At that precise second, an enormous gust of wind picks up and sends my knee-length cotton dress up to my waist. The result: VAGINA.
The bus driver winks at my as I board the bus, chest heaving, hair plastered to my head. "Rough day, huh?" No actually, Mr. Bus driver, it was a splendid day until you got a front row ticket to the Bridget peep show. And he STILL made me pay the bus fare. The nerve of some people. You give 'em a little va-jay and they don't even wave your fee.
As I went to take my seat, a fat, scraggly looking old man in one of the front seats facing the front of the bus sat staring at me, grinning like a motherfucker. If his smile was any bigger, it would have split his face in half. So it looks like I made someone's day. My work here is complete. Two points for always thinking of others.
Let's just tuck this one away in the Of Course That Would Happen file. When I got home that night, B asked me how my day was.
"My day? Oh my day was great. Pretty sure I can now be considered a Level 1 sex offender."
"What does that mean?"
"Yeah, that sounds about right for you."
If B doesn't buy me a car PRONTO, I'm filing for divorce.
UPDATE: This just about sums it up. I take the FML every day.
Thanks, Deanne, for always being on the lookout for appropriate New York City Metro signs that match my life.