I was on my way from my department to the back room of the store, taking the garbage back to the trash compactor, and a customer stopped me to ask if I knew anything about meat. (Haha.) (That is what she said, I'm not making it up.) I do work in the deli but she was asking about the meat from the meat department, boneless skinless chicken to be precise, but that wasn't really the point of the story. You should be used to that from me by now though, I mean, come on. Anyway. She stopped me, saying, "Excuse me, Miss?" I was wearing residual mascara and trace amounts of eyeliner that I didn't take off from last night, (I like "'the morning after' look" that is achieved by sleeping with your mascara on. Eyeliner doesn't hold up as well, not that the mascara really does either, but what it ends up looking like the next morning is a good look unto itself, at least I think. That being the mascara. The eyeliner tends to smear throughout the day even without you touching your eyes, which I don't do, at least not that I'm conscious of. So it gets into wrinkles in your lower lid, well not wrinkles, because obvious none of us, The Beautiful People, have wrinkles, I mean the folds created in your lower eyelid when your eye is open, you know what I mean, look in the mirror. It may not be that apparent if you haven't got runaway leftover eyeliner in the crease drawing attention and making it blatant but it's there. So the point being, last night's mascara works the next day, last night's eyeliner, although it looks fine in the mirror that morning, throughout the day, not so much. That wasn't really the point, that was just the point of the random maquillage tangent. Which wasn't really the point of the entire thing, just of the last thought. I don't know where I meant to go with that whole thing, or where I was going when I suddenly veered off course, but let's see, I was mid-sentence...) but other than that, I was just wearing my work uniform: baseball hat type hat, marigold polo shirt, and black slacks. I sometimes have my apron cinched so tight that it takes my coworkers' collective breath away, not because of the stunning figure it gives me, which it totally does, (Think Scarlett O'Hara, or Rosemary Clooney's sister from White Christmas, whose waist you could probably wrap one hand around and touch your thumb and fingers together.) but because they feel that it's so tight that they can't imagine how I am able to draw breath, and they empathetically cease to breathe for me. (Another side note on White Christmas, my friend Fran from work and I are would-be sisters and do the "Sisters" act with the big showgirl feather-fans from the movie.) So I sometimes wear my apron cinched at the waist, which though one nay-sayer (jealous) said that no matter what I do I will never have child bearing hips, (which I do have when I wear it like that. 36-24-36 all the way!) but I wasn't wearing it like that today, so I didn't give the illusion of being a woman by my hourglass figure. She realized her mistake, and was very embarrassed. She needn't have been, I rather enjoyed being mistaken for a young lady, and she didn't seem nearly as foolish for it as the guy who did it the first time.
The other night when I arrived home, I apparently failed to notice that there were orange cones on the grass area between the curb and sidewalk with No Parking signs taped to them. The next morning, I woke up and my cell phone was ringing, it was my mom, but before I had a chance to answer it she had either hung up or the voicemail picked up, and I simultaneously heard someone knocking on the door. I assumed she had locked herself out on the way to work, so I came down, but she was in her bedroom doorway and said that there was someone at the door, for me to see who it was. I wasn't dressed, I just had a Breakfast at Tiffany's fleece blanket with Audrey Hepburn's face on it, and she and George Peppard kissing in the rain, it's a movie poster in blanket version, wrapped around my waist. I answered the door, and the guy said, "Sorry to bother you ma'am, but is that your car?" Bleary eyed and barely awake, though I caught it, I didn't bother to call him on the "ma'am." I didn't say anything to the customer at work either, she realized, but anyway. "Yes." "Could you please move it...blahblahblah." It wasn't until I closed the door and went back upstairs quickly to change, so I could go outside and move my car so they could dig a hole in the street, that I realized that I had been ma'am-ed. I was outraged! Not that he had thought that I was a women, which wouldn't have bothered me, but, um, hello?! I'd be a miss, thank you very much! I'm only in my early twenties for crying out loud! The nerve! How dare?! (And also, if you didn't take note, I wasn't dressed, read "no shirt" and I had the blanket around my waist. I sometimes wear a towel up under my arms when I have just exited the shower, (stage left,) but it was around my waist, and my chest was exposed. What a moron.)
xoxo, Travvy
P.S. Along with being mistaken for a woman, I have also recently been mistaken for being "Not that gay," hahaha. But that is a different story.
xoxo, Travvy
No comments:
Post a Comment