Breaking Even

Still bleary-eyed and barely functional, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, my body struggling against gravity and inertia as I made my way to the 7-11 for requisite a.m. caffeine and nicotine.

Mere steps from my destination, I placed one foot on the sidewalk, haphazardly taking a path across the cross-hatched metal I would normally go to great lengths to avoid.

The steel grates underfoot.
The unseen train moving beneath pavement and earth.
The knee-length, pleated skirt I'd donned an hour earlier through half-closed eyes.

I made a half-hearted effort to push my skirt down, but, really, I was too tired to care.

Inside, I avoided the wait for coffee and bee-lined for the energy drinks. The man in front of me at the checkout wore a button down and tie with a bandanna tied Rambo-style around his forehead and stared lasciviously at me with a wicked grin.

Outside, Red Bull and Parliament in hand, I made a mental calculation.

Pedestrian and motor traffic was relatively light, and the site of my apparel plight was partially shielded by buildings and a trailer. By my unscientific estimation, approximately 10 people were likely to have witnessed my starting the day Marilyn style.

I figure I brightened the day for about 5 of them (Rambo Wannabe included), and probably ruined the day for the other 5.

I'm okay with that. I mean, at least I was wearing panties... Right?