Ever have those days when people seem to be staring at you for no apparent reason? Yeah, we all do, except they’re consistently staring at you all day. How about a day that’s like any other, no one treating you like an alien (any more than normal) and then suddenly you’re the cynosure of male attention?
Ridiculous I tell myself, have I suddenly metamorphosed into Shakira? Discreetly pat knees and arms to check if all items of clothing are present. Yup, all there, no noticeable malfunctions. What the hell are they looking at me for???
The waiter leers over me waaayyyy too long, and comes back to ask if that really, truly is all I want, ditto that ten minutes later. All accompanied by the grin that could set the Cheshire cat to shame. Tch, tch I tell myself, poor thang, his hormones befuddle him. But what of that middle-aged uncle at the next table? If he stretches back any further to see past the waiter’s butt, he’ll keel over. Serve him right too for trying to lech at almost-daughter’s-age-type.
With all the dignity I can muster, I head out, head held high, hands stiffly by side to prevent any nervous fidgeting. Hmph, bloody men and their lecherous glances. In a few minutes, I’ve forgotten it all. Then I pass a mirror.
Oh, horror of horrors…I totally forgot that cloud-burst I got trapped in, a few minutes before I rushed in for shelter. Yeah, I got wet. Now I know what everyone was staring at. Oh damn…I look like a nursing mother with a leakage problem.
Blaaaady hell. Major design flaw, I agree.