Now Playing: Tori Amos: Bliss, Baker Baker, Pieces of Me, Tear in Your Hand
On the bus to work this morning, I sat next to a young woman listening to her iPod. She wore dark pants and chunky black shoes. Her right ankle rested across her left knee, the dark pants were draped back and her bare ankle was exposed (ooo la la!). She may have been wearing peds, but I could see no sign of hosiery.
Somehow, my mind connected this to thong underwear, worn to avoid a Visible Panty Line (VPL). Why can't people acknowledge the underpinnings of their apparel? But young women let their bra and bikini straps show. Why are people so focused on only allowing their exterior to be known? What is so unseemly about acknowledging that you are, in fact, wearing undergarments? I found it far more bothersome to see a woman walking in front of me wearing white nylon pants through which I could plainly see her otherwise bare flesh, than I did catching a glimpse of a waitress' VPL through her khakis. What is wrong with you people?
Oh, and the work is just temping admin assist/reception with an employment agency until they find a permanent replacement for their former admin assist/receptionist. I had to wake up at 5 this morning. When my alarm went off, I couldn't even comprehend what it was. I was aware only of something horrible pulling me out of bed before dawn. A second or two later, I was clutching my lil black alarm clock and trying desperately to remember what was required to make that horrible something stop. I can't even recall registering the alarm as sound. It was just horrible, attacking me in the red-tinted darkness, and I had to make it stop.
