Yesterday, I had to return some movies. The store was closed, but they have a mail slot in the door, so I bent down, dropped off the movies and started walking back to the car.
A man in a pickup truck who had to be about ninety (the man, not the truck, though it was pretty vintage as well) stopped dead in the middle of the street and stared at me.
"Here it comes", I thought to myself "He's going to yell some sort of ethnic slur at me." (This has been happening with increasing (and alarming) frequency, which I can only attribute to the talk-radio nutjobs encouraging people to embrace their worst tendencies).
Instead, he just sat there, staring at me until I got in my car and drove away. I'm sure you can imagine how unnerving it was-I mean, who knows what kind of lunatic the guy was.
When I came home, I put away my handbag and reached for my apron in the mindless way I have my entire life. I happened to look down as I was tying the apron on and noticed that not one, but three buttons on my shirtdress were undone-right down to the waist.
I did have on a really nice bra.