Stoopid Aventure Number One

I decided the other day to start walking since I'm getting so fat. I like walking, especially if I'm going somewhere and especially if that somewhere has a reward waiting for me.
So I got up early (total miracle), parked my car at the office, put on my awesome but neglected work-out shoes, and started walking towards my favorite place for a cup of my favorite tea. It was an exceptionally beautiful day and I was feeling great. Then I noticed something irritating in my shoe. It was a fucking proverbial pebble! I was up to a nice quick pace so like hell I was going to break stride for a stupid little rock. So I just tried to ignore it.
La la la, sunshine, fresh air. I was feeling fine. I was happy that there were no cars at the main intersection I had to cross. No bitches sitting there impatiently waiting for me to cross the street. No assholes checking me out. Hooray for the simple things.
I marched in to the cafe, wallet in hand, and walked directly to where my favorite tea bag sat waiting for me. I love walking into a place like I own it, and this morning I pulled it off rather well. Yes indeed, the tourists all stopped to look at "that local girl who knows her shit".
As I stood in line, which was pleasantly short, I felt eyes on my shoes. Curious eyes. Judging eyes. Cold eyes. Yes, I know, my shoes are strange looking. I call them my Camel Toes, because there is a split between the big toe and the rest of my little piggies.

Four reasons why I love them so much:

1) They are the most comfortable fucking shoes ever.
2) I can call them my Camel Toes.
3) I'm the only person I know who has them.
4) They freak people out.

So I was used to this reaction. But not by a fucking tourist. I usually don't mind when people say something about my camel toe. Even when they get that sorta disgusted look, I just smile. But when that woman looked down (she was seated in one of the high bar stool like things) at my feet, it made me mad for some reason. Fucking tourist. So whatever, nevermind.
I was happy to see that there was a new girl working the counter. I absolutely can NOT stand the usual girl. I'll blog about why some day, I'm sure. But this new girl was cool. She seemed to know what was going on at least. She appeared to understand why she was there. So why was it that the dorky ass guy behind her was the one to help me?

Big dork: "What can I get you?".
Me: "I just want a big cup of hot water for this tea bag".
BD: "So you want a cup of tea?".
My mind: " Yes you stupid fuck, I'm standing here with a tea bag asking for hot water for my tea."
Me for real :"Um, yeah. A big one."
BD: "Is this big enough?".
Me: "Do you have anything bigger?"
BD: "No, this is it.".
My mind: "Then why the fuck did you ask?".
Me for real: "Then I guess that will have to be it.".
BD: " Now, remember, this is 180 (or something, I can't remember) degrees, so it's really hot."
Me for real : "So I guess you don't want me to pour it on my leg and sue you right?"
The Big Dumb Ass just looks at me and says nothing. I then ask if he could put some ice in it since I'm walking and I don't want to burn my hands off, so he puts in like 4 little pieces and asks me if that's enough. I tell him to put as much as there was room for.
"But then it won't be a hot cup of tea," he says.
Yeah dumb ass, that's why I want you to put fucking ice in it.
I get out of there before I say anymore.

On the way back to the office I have to play the ole switch hands with the wallet and the hot tea every 3 minutes so I don't burn my hand too much. It's a lot easier to say than do. At least I didn't have my keys and cell phone..
So I'm almost back to the cross walk when this pubic hair starts poking me somewhere very sensitive. It's been a few days since I shaved and some new growth must have been coming alive or something. I HAVE to scratch it or something, but,

A) my hands are full
B) I'm in public

I have to cross the street sort of dancing and walking funny, and this time of course there are lot's of cars and I feel like I'm on display. I felt like a science experiment.
"See what happens when a woman with her hands full gets a painful crotch itch in public."
There was nothing I could do. I just had to walk all the way back like that. On the way, I walk by the museum with the big windows and I see my reflection. I look like total hell. My sweatshirt is way to big and my pant leg bottoms are bigger than my tiny feet. I look ricockulously disproportionate and genetically challenged. And I'm walking funny. Funnier than usual anyway.

That was my first walk.