Charismatic Megafauna by Quiconque

After teaching on Sunday I decided to “just do it”–go outside and walk for 20 minutes. I was afraid I’d talk myself out of it once I got home, so I immediately changed into comfortable clothes, set the pedometer, and headed out the door.

I’d walked halfway around the block when I caught my reflection in the glass doors of the elementary school. I looked like a giant toddler, or the female unabomber.  I was sporting a bright green t-shirt, stretchy black capris, shiny silver sneakers, dark blue bedazzled socks with “Superstar” written on them, a beige windbreaker, and a black knit hat.  I looked unbalanced.

I was more amused than embarrassed by my ensemble, and took comfort that it was raining and there weren’t many people out on the street to witness my sartorial missteps. Besides, my goal was not to meet people during the next 20 minutes.

So, imagine my surprise when I turned the corner and was greeted with, “Hey sexy lady!” I wanted to laugh, but I put on my stony face and kept walking. This did not deter the catcaller, who repeated, “Hey sexy! What are you, Indian?”

I nearly swooned in rapturous passion (passionate rapture?) to hear those words directed at me. But I remained outwardly calm, and continued my exercise.

It wasn’t until I got back to the apartment that I recalled the Tiny Bride of Sierra Leone and realize I’d missed my chance at real happiness.

Man on the corner, come back! No, I’m not Indian!