Let us begin by acknowledging that winter in Minneapolis looks different than summer in Minneapolis.
I’m not referring to the discarded bits of tongue left on random elementary school swings; nor do I refer to the piles of slush that line the alleys following a plowing, only to develop into a car-punishing obstacle course upon freezing.
No. That’s not it.
I submit to you, instead, the yearly, seasonal re-introduction of exposed flesh.
A woman got on the bus this morning wearing what was clearly a swimsuit cover-up.
And nothing else.
It was 7:30.
The criss-cross cut of the back showed off her impressive rear view, the deeply cut arm holes exposed the lack of mammary support. The bottoms of her buttocks hung ever-so-slightly lower than the hem of the off-white garment; and judging from the look on the face of the woman across the aisle from where she sat, there may not have been underwear involved.
All that for the price of a bus pass! What next? Espresso machines? Soft cuddly puppies to hold en route?
You know, we don’t often get that look around the neighborhood – at least not during the morning commute. Say what you will, but large quantities of exposed, dimpled flesh before work – particularly when it’s not your own! – will go a long way towards pepping you up some, first thing. Here I’d been thinking it was going to be just another day when I am reminded, in one fell swoop, that we’re out of milk, that something on the grill would be nice, and that I still have Kathy’s “Charlotte’s Web”.
Summer’s too short – in all kinds of ways.
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