bloody thighs

today i was riding on a wet bicycle seat. sounds hot right? not really. not when your wearing a dress and your ass is wet and your thighs are chafing with every push of the peddle.

why does this matter, you ask? isn't this bolg about stories revolving around food, you wonder? well, hold up. here's why it's significant.

i walk dowstairs to get a cup of strong, steaming hot coffee from the little food-shop-in-a-spa downstairs. the sign said closed, but the operating hours are 9:30am to 7pm. it was now 10:20am. this would normally piss my off, but now i was pissed and panicky cause it meant walking all the way to the end of the block, and halfway down another to the deli for weak, luke warm coffee. and every step i took burned. i needed vaseline like a marathon runner.

so now i sit, with my legs spread, drinking room temp sour coffee, cursing irresponsible cafes. that's all.



some notes on the drawing:

this could either be a 12 year old with green pubes and her first period.
or
me with a wishful thinking hip measurement and an ouchie.