Skanks on a Train

These are the ugliest shoes I've seen in a while. The picture doesn't do justice to the particular shade of nipple pink faux leather that accents the faux leopard skin. Or the nipple pink cord bow on the toe.

They belong to a trout-mouthed woman who was on our train from NY to Baltimore Sunday morning. At first, her shoes were the most offensive thing about her. Then somewhere around Philly she gets on her phone and starts talking, loudly.

It's 10ish on a Sunday. I'm on my second full day of this cold and a bit hungover. I am not light and love and puppies (ask Brian for confirmation.) I am raw and bitchy and on the verge of crying because I just want to be somewhere away from people. I can't get a bagel on the train because the oven doesn't work. I really really want a bagel.

She's directly across the aisle from me. Going on and on at the top of her healthy lungs about black dresses cut down to there, sleepy hugs and everything is punctuated by this doltish laugh. The train chugs on and so does she. Five minutes in I loathe her. I lean to Brian and whisper "I wish someone would kick her in her fucking head." She's still going on and I'm trying to read Outside the Lines but I can't really concentrate on either...something about plans and later and what was it that DA Powell said about burying things in poems? Back up the page and read it again.

She's still going on, laughing that dolt laugh and it seems impossible that she's laughing at what the other person says because she never seems to stop making noise long enough for someone else to respond.

She's the type of girl you'd see at a Young Republicans meeting or out somewhere protesting a Planned Parenthood Clinic and promoting Abstinence only education. She's still talking and I lean in Brian's direction and say, not so quietly this time, "I wish someone would shut her the fuck up." A couple of minutes later she's off the phone and she sits there, furiously texting until we get to Baltimore. I hope that was my fault.