So I get on the blue line, hop off at the transfer platform, and get in the red line. There I am, standing in the doorway passage walk-way area, minding my own business, looking out the window, thinking about how cool it would be if I had a really big dog that I could feed potatoes, and something unexpected happens.
It is the third stop on the line, and the train comes to a stop. I move out of the way, letting people go by, when this old guy in a red hoodie with a giant lunchbox holds up this scrap of paper in my face. I snatch it out of his hands, and my face instantly reads, "What the mother fuck is this?" Because I literally have no way to school my face into anything other that what I am feeling when I am caught unawares.
The really big black guy that was right behind him sees my face, sees the paper in my hand, and starts busting a gut.
I look at the paper. It says:
RANDY
Plus his number. I briefly considered putting on here... But then I thought that would be rude. I mean, most people give out there numbers to communicate.
Except that I am not going to... um, hook up?... with a fifty-ish dude from the train. Uh...
That was basically my day today.
Oh, and in my Human Sexuality class we talked about vaginas. That was fun. I learned a lot of new words to describe the lady parts. Though, disappointingly, no one offered up "fanny," "the downstairs compartment," or "downtown." And while there were many good words to describe boobs, "nunga-nungas" was not one of the ones anyone knew. Oh well.
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