One Ugly Broad

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I was stopped at a traffic light yesterday morning. It was one of those eternal lights out on Niagara Falls Boulevard, and it was just a little before eight o'clock.

The girl in the car next to me was making a number of frenzied movements and I glanced over. She was a pretty, young blonde girl and the movements were frenzied because she was essentially putting her face on.

I watched her rub a small brush up and down her chin and around her eyes. She never looked my way because she was really working hard.

She's pretty, I thought.

She reached to the seat beside her and came up with another instrument and she started really working on her eyes, looking straight into the mirror to make sure she didn't mess up.

The light turned green and I moved on.

She's no Kathy Fazzolari," I thought next.

There was another light just a short jaunt up the road and we stopped again. She went back to work.

I'm glad I'm not a woman, I thought.

It just looked like waaaaaayyyyy too much work.

And then my mind wandered as the light turned green and she was soon gone.

I'd be hideous as a woman, I considered.

The makeup would not be expertly applied. The eyeliner would be haphazardly strewn about my face. I'd have mustard all over my blouse.

She stinks, I imagined someone saying about me.

And the entire casual, disorganized approach of the fairer sex wouldn't play very well if those types of things were trapped inside my body.

Not to mention the other crap they have to go through, I contemplated.

I dressed up for Halloween as a woman a couple of times.

I must admit that I was sort of pretty in a Roseanne Barr type of way.

"Holy Shit! Did you see that broad?" People would call out as I shimmied my way by.

"She's a freaking mess."

Yep.

See what happens when someone applies make-up in the car next to me?

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