...or, better known as the last unmarried thirty-something renter in Southie...
Monday, January 23, 2012
So much for leaving early.
What is the point of getting out the door at 8:11, a full 20 to 45 minutes earlier than usual, if I'm just going to stand in my sassy shoes in the slush pile at the corner of G Street and Broadway from 8:14 to 8:33 with 25 other people, seeing no #9 busses (despite a schedule that suggests between 7 and 9 a.m. there should be one arriving every 5 minutes), then get on the first one to arrive only to be wedged in like a stuffed animal in a pizza palace crane game, regretting the choice to wear the 4-inch heels (only worn because I was leaving early and was going to get to work quickly and thought there were busses coming every 5 minutes so I wouldn't be standing on the pavement for 19 minutes and would surely get a seat once it arrived), but not using that as an excuse to wonder grumpily how still, even in an age where chivalry is not required, there can be professional, working gentlemen who sit in the seats robo-checking smart phones for the entire 20-minute ride into Copley while above them, the aisles are filled with women staggering to stay upright as the bus lurches and groans down the road.
She rents an apartment in a neighborhood of trendy condos.
Her bike is vintage Raleigh. Her car is from 1991.
The cat's litter box is next to her bed and she doesn't own a dresser.
She likes to make fun of herself.
Occasionally she runs marathons.
And yes, she has to wear glasses. Contacts are not an option.