I go for that much-needed first jolt of coffee. There’s no milk, no creamer and no sugar. That should have been my first clue that I was already screwed.
|Please can I have some coffee with sugar and cream?|
Walking to my bus stop, I glance over my shoulder – here comes the bus. I look ahead and watch as the light at the intersection turns green and there is no one waiting on the bus stop. This means that if my cranky-ass doesn’t make it to the stop before the bus, it’s going to pass me by.
|Don't let the art work fool you - I wasn't smiling.|
Now I’m running. And screaming “I’m running!” I feel the pleasantly loose jeans I slid into about half hour prior start to move down my hips. Not good. I grab my waistband, scratching my belly with my fingernails in the process, desperately trying to keep my ass covered and still racing to that corner. I’m running like the fucking Hunchback of Notre Dame, peering over my shoulder at the approaching bus, screaming “I’m losing my pants, I’m running and I’m losing my pants!”
This whole time I’ve been on the phone with my eleven year old who travels in the opposite direction to get to school and she’s laughing at me. I shout into my cell as I feel cool air brush the top of my butt: “It’s not funny, I’m about to be bare ass on Frankford Avenue!” I triumphantly reach my goal. The bus stops about five yards back. I walk to it, hiking up my jeans, hop on and say good morning to the bus driver. He’s laughing and avoiding making eye contact. Oh well, I hope he enjoyed the show.
I take a seat. The bus pulls forward and the baby on the lap of the woman across the aisle begins to scream.
I should’ve stayed in bed.