For Chrissake, Grow Some Dignity.

Sometimes I'll wake up late and rush out of the house and forget half of the contents of my handbag in various corners of my room, most often my music, wallet, and self-respect. Today was one of those mornings. And on these mornings, when I have nary an iPod nor a book to amuse myself with during the commute, I play this little game. At every stop, I pick the hottest girl in my particular coupe, and then smile at her and see what happens. Usually the results are hilarious, and it's usually pretty easy to spot my target since the late-morning shlep tends to ship only the downtrodden masses. Well, this morning was probably easiest of all, unfortunately I didn't even get to play because I spent the whole ride being a completely unwilling observer as a fourty-something Jewish woman with wiry hair and a blubbery waddle plucked hairs off of her chin with a pair of tweezers, until she got off at 42nd Street, in plain view of about thirty people. Without a care in the world. She just sat there, with her tongue in her cheek, like when you're trying to mimic a blowjob to your friends, feeling for strays with one hand and annihilating with the other. It was the grossest, most disturbing rubbernecking of my entire life.

Ugh. Bitch made me lose my favorite game. For good.
Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh (shudder).