So when I woke up this morning, my stomach was killing me. I got up three times, and each time I laid back down and made a kind of feeble "eurrrgggh" noise. At precisely the point where if I got up exactly then, I would only be stupidly late for work, instead of obcenely late, I finally got up and hurried through my morning routine -- albeit a sort of shuffled, hunched-over kind of hurry. The only clean shirt I own with a collar that does not require an iron is this sort of stretchy patterned shiny short-sleeve dark blue shirt that actually looks much nicer than my really bad description of it might lead one to believe. Usually I like the stretchiness of it, but today, the shirt was distending awkwardly over my big fat puffy tender belly -- but I had no time to de-wrinkle anything else, so awkward stretchy shirt it was.
I hobbled my way down the street to the subway, somehow forced my gut through the turnstile, and got on the train. I kept trying to stand up straight, stop hunching, but it just was not happening. And of course -- right in front of me, sitting down, eyes on a level with my midsection -- there was this super hot blonde guy, lazily looking up and down the subway car.
What do we do when we are standing next to someone hot? We try to look hot. So I ignored the shooting pains, stood up straight, sucked myself in, and tried not to let my eyes water. Ow, I thought to myself. This fucking hurts but it is totally worth it because he is really very cute.
And then I saw he was wearing headphones. My eyes followed the cord down to his lap...and saw that he was fiddling with some big boxy clunky Nomad MP3 player, at which point I sighed with relief and hunched myself over again in comfort. Because honestly: if you own one of those bad boys instead of an iPod and display it in full view on the subway? That is a minimum -50 cute points right there, dropping him straight into "not worth exacerbating a stomachache over" territory.
(snort) Nomad. Whatever.