Monday, August 02, 2004
Hi
I managed to get home from work without incident. This morning was a bit of a trip. After spending a couple of hours with the dentist (and by the way... I had forgotten how much a short skirt rides up when they lay you down in that chair!) I made my way to the train station. Even with my jacket on and zipped most of the way up to my neck, there was a difference. I'm just not used to strangers looking at me. And certainly not to having them change where they are standing to watch me go around a corner. Little freaky. (lot freaky.) And that was without him being able to see the top that has a neckline I can't realistically wear into the office. I know that I will get used to it, with practice, but it is more unsettling than I had expected. And then the guy with the guitar on the way home... he was strange. I had the jacket open, because it wasn't cold, and the skirt was, well, higher than I really think is necessary, and this young guy with a guitar (and no, I don't know why that is important to the story, it just is.) walks up the sidewalk and says "Good evening" as he walks by. Nobody talks to you in the Financial district. Not unless they know you. And not at rush hour. (It wasn't seven yet.)
Then I walked in the door. You don't even want to know. Let's just say that it wasn't a hit. Didn't really think it would be, but really, the look on his face said it all.
And before I get off onto a rant you don't want to hear, I will bid you good night.
I'll write again later.
I managed to get home from work without incident. This morning was a bit of a trip. After spending a couple of hours with the dentist (and by the way... I had forgotten how much a short skirt rides up when they lay you down in that chair!) I made my way to the train station. Even with my jacket on and zipped most of the way up to my neck, there was a difference. I'm just not used to strangers looking at me. And certainly not to having them change where they are standing to watch me go around a corner. Little freaky. (lot freaky.) And that was without him being able to see the top that has a neckline I can't realistically wear into the office. I know that I will get used to it, with practice, but it is more unsettling than I had expected. And then the guy with the guitar on the way home... he was strange. I had the jacket open, because it wasn't cold, and the skirt was, well, higher than I really think is necessary, and this young guy with a guitar (and no, I don't know why that is important to the story, it just is.) walks up the sidewalk and says "Good evening" as he walks by. Nobody talks to you in the Financial district. Not unless they know you. And not at rush hour. (It wasn't seven yet.)
Then I walked in the door. You don't even want to know. Let's just say that it wasn't a hit. Didn't really think it would be, but really, the look on his face said it all.
And before I get off onto a rant you don't want to hear, I will bid you good night.
I'll write again later.
