hank always wanted to be a dancer...

It’s days like this that I hope you have left the city.

I feel sweaty, clammy, pent up. My walk is uneasy, switching violently from an overconfident strut to a drunken stumble. I smile at some people as I am walking by. I get the impression that the smile that I am smiling doesn’t look at all how I want it to. I am gritting my teeth, sneering, looking away.

My skirt feels too voluminous, like it is going to blow sideways and show my panties. This will not be some Marilyn Monroe moment. Nothing about me feels sexy today – least of all the way my panties would look as I hightail it down Hastings. My shoes are falling apart. Looking at my shoes would lead you to believe that I am one of those ladies that always has lipstick on their teeth. Today I realize that the only reason that I am not one of those lipstick ladies is because I avoid the makeup thing altogether. There is always a method to my madness. Nevertheless, I will be throwing out these shoes the second I get home. They make me feel like my entire life is falling apart.

Days like this just kind of sneak up on you, like a bad ex-boyfriend (that you have prayed you would never run into).