What’s worse than sweaty pearls?

The other day–whichever day was the hottest this week–I saw this girl walking up Bedford and I was totally prepared to give her the Dumbest Girl of the Week Prize. She was wearing: superskinny black jeans tucked into black motorcycle boots, a wifebeater, Wayfarers, and [drumroll please] about 47 pounds of faux pearls around her neck. I’m all, Give me a break, sweetheart!

But today, a usurper! This gal was a dark horse. When I first saw her standing on the L platform, I merely thought, Wow. Now that is a really nice dress. It was a cap-sleeved Twiggy-style minidress in a not-too-kitschy blue-and-green leaf print. I thought to myself, You know what would make that dress better? Me. Sometimes I’m a little conceited, y’all. It’s probably a defense mechanism or something. But truly: that dress would’ve looked mad cute on me, plus I would’ve had the sense to not own her ugly bag and shoes, and to put on some fricking blush, since that shade of blue has a tendency to wash a sister out.

The train came and we got on.

The Twiggy dress sat down across from me.

Uh, I have a question:

WHO WEARS A DRESS THAT SHORT AND DOESN’T WEAR UNDERWEAR???

by Pistol Whip | 29 June 2007 | ick | Comments