There are many types of women in the word—short, tall, fat, thin, rational, psychotic—each unique in their own way. Some women are gentle and delicate. They won’t walk, they float; they don’t sweat, they glisten. They are graceful and beautifully feminine.
Then there is me.
Not so gentle, definitely not delicate; I stomp around like a bull in a china shop and I sweat…unfortunately. Allow me to paint you a picture…
I had been in a hurry all day at work on Tuesday—edit this document, attend this meeting, update this schedule—it was a relentless day. In addition to this work related craziness, I was writing my midterm exam that evening for the grammar and punctuation class I am taking. My brain was all over the place trying to concentrate on work and remember the verb tense for the subjunctive mood. Yes, verbs have moods. I can totally relate.
My plan was to leave work early so I could get to my exam a little early, relax and cram a bit before the test started. Yeah, not so much. “Victoria can you look at this? Victoria can you send me document XYZ?” Hey dudes, can you leave me alone for five minutes so I can try and remember what a pronoun-antecedent agreement is? After work I ended up rushing to my class and was in quite the state (read: chaos personified) by the time I arrived. Here’s a simple little equation:
Southern Ontario humidity + fat girl running to class = sweaty mess
So there I am—heavy breathing, furrowed brow, shirt clinging to me (and not in a hot, sexy way…no, no, no, no, no)—trying desperately to remember what an appositive noun is (please don’t ask because I still can’t remember) while I write my three-hour exam.
So now my exam is finished and because I’m possibly the slowest test taker in the world, it takes me all three hours plus about 10 extra minutes my teacher gave me (because she’s super cool). Now I need to rush to catch my train home. I run to the subway station and miss the subway that is just pulling in. Why you ask? Because I got my bag caught in the turnstile. Yeah…that is so how I role. I am truly a comedy of errors.
I catch the next subway and finally get to the train station and of course the train I happened to be catching is boarding on the furthest track from where the subway let me off. A quick shout out to anyone who works or knows someone who works for GO Transit—and I say this with love—there are 15 different tracks available at Union Station, why in the name of all that is holy do you make me run to the other side of the station? WHY??
So I run—heart racing, heavy breathing—to the other side of the station and up not one but TWO flights of stairs to catch my train. Anyone want to take a stab at what I looked like at the end of this little marathon? Anyone? Bueller? SWEATY MESS. I also think I may have had a mild heart attack, but I’m nota doctor so I can’t verify that for sure.
I board the train and I take my seat…wait, what is that I feel? Could it be? Sweet mother of…it’s air conditioning! Sweaty mess, meet your salvation. A cool silver lining in what was a crazy sweaty day.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be that graceful, delicate, non-sweaty girl—my instincts tell me no—but maybe that’s ok. The world needs all kinds of different women, even ones who are a sweaty mess I suppose. 😉