Wash my eyes

Thursday night I was giving Uncle Ben a ride home to the monastery after a fairly successful trivia challenge evening at Keegan’s (one first-place victory and a finish just one point out of the money in another). We drove past a night club that had a huge line of young people waiting to get inside. Suddenly, we were assaulted.

Standing in one group was a blonde Valkyrie with her back toward us. Ben estimated her at 240 pounds. She was “clad” in a plaid mini-skirt that might have been modest on Renee Zellweger, but was more of a sash on Brunhilde as it did an inadequate job of covering her thong – or anything else. Ben was thinking cottage cheese, but I think a more apt description would be a topographical map of the, er, moon.

Now I know the proper response to such an exposure is to look away, and believe me, we did. We looked away so firmly that I think my car almost jumped the curb and hit a streetlight. I also know there are many forms of beauty and appreciation for such (when in the proper context), and I try hard to refrain from making judgments about people based on their physical appearance (comely or otherwise), but such a deliberate “in-your-face” display suggests a certain aggressive, anti-social attitude. I don’t know what she was thinking, but I don’t imagine it was nice.

I’m telling you, the streets aren’t safe.

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