I always write to you about crazy people, and today is no exception, but today I am the crazy person. Let me preface this by saying….I have a VERY tight afternoon schedule. I get off work at 4 o’clock on the 17th floor of a downtown building. I have until 4:06 to be at the train station 5 blocks away if I am going to make my train and be home before 6:oo. Today’s series of unfortunate events begins with this same routine. I run… yes, run… well ok, admittedly, my run is very much like a bouncy walk, but in my mind I am Forrest Gump trying to catch a train. It’s not pretty. I am not a small woman. I am sure I am in some person’s blog about the crazy fat girl who runs to the train every day.
In a silver lining kind of moment: thanks to this schedule, I have lost 15 lbs… and up until today, I was proud of that! I am sure New Year’s Resolution Guy would be even prouder. I am sure he would think it is because I have upped my water intake, I would shout, “Yes! Yes Resolutioner! It is you! It is the water! You have inspired me!” I still wouldn’t tell him that it is coffee in my water bottle. And he would be proud! And yes, I have felt better, and had more energy, and blah blah blah, and all that other crap you are supposed to say when you lose weight.
To add to that vanity… I got my hair cut this weekend… so clearly I wanted to look really cute today right? I put on my three-inch heels and my cutest set of matching unmentionables and I feel good head to toe…because a girl needs to feel good head to toe. The morning goes without a single problem. I stand on the train feeling tall (6’1″ in my heels) and confident… I was ready to soar through the day! And I did. I strutted down the streets of downtown thinking, “This isn’t so bad!” And no matter how stressed I got during the day, I could tell myself, “but you have great hair!”
But then, the clock turns 3:58 and the mad dash begins. I shut everything down. I head out the door in a rush.. I am going to run to the train. I am going to make it! I manage to not hyperventilate that the elevator stops to pick up passengers on every freaking floor. I manage to smile and nod as strangers speak to me. I don’t even throat punch the very kind gentleman who wants to hold the elevator for the girl he is trying to hit on (who has to go back for her purse- who leaves their purse?????????????) “Don’t worry! We’ll wait!” I shout in my nicest voice. I fear the sarcasm has leaked into my tone a smidge. Somehow, I finally make it downstairs, and since claustrophobia has kicked in full force, I barrel off of the elevator as gracefully as possible. I am not sure if you can barrel gracefully, but if you can, I did it! I finally make it to the front door of the building where I am accosted by the wind tunnel of downtown.. Whew…thank God I didn’t wear a dress today! Not to worry! Staying Positive, Let’s go! I am going to make the train!
So you’ve seen it in the movies where Halle Berry or Jessica Alba trek through an action scene in red carpet attire, including gorgeous hooker heels. It’s graceful, it’s beautiful, it is awe inspiring… and I look absolutely nothing like any of those things. I catch my reflection in the windows a few times and I am pretty sure I am the topic of conversations behind the glass.
To make matters worse, thanks to those stupid 15 lbs I lost, now my unmentionables won’t stay up! Only I don’t have time to stop and re-adjust, and how does one gracefully re-adjust their falling panties on the streets of downtown anyway? My mother would die…she is actually probably dying right now reading this. Panic sets in as I can see the train at the stop before mine… I have to speed it up. The solid granny worthy tug on my panties does not resolve the problem… Let’s recap the scene: I am running down town, the wind has blown my hair into my face, and because I am dripping with sweat…it is now stuck across my line of sight, but I can’t brush it aside because I have one hand on my roller bag- which repeatedly flips upside down as I run causing me to trip over it, and my other hand has a vice grip on my the waistband of my pants and panties to keep from an even more embarrassing scenario (which is shockingly still a possibility)- and the death grip actually only keeps them up in the front…and well, that is a problem… mostly because I have a lot more in the back than I do in the front, and well, once again I find myself grateful that I am wearing slacks.
You can picture this right? It sounds like the epitome of class and grace and femininity doesn’t it?
I make my train, I launch myself between the double doors with the femininity of an Offensive Lineman, and with 14 seconds to spare, I find my spot as far away from humans as possible. I know it is 14 seconds because I am counting. I was trying to keep my mind on something else as I spent the next 7 minutes standing next to a hot guy. Only I am not thinking about how handsome he is, or how I made the train, or even, “Hey go me! I ran downtown in my heels!” Nope, my one and only thought is, “How the hell am I going to get my underwear back in place?????????”