The Walk of Shame
Words of Mass Destruction
LOL just fucking with you.
It’s 8:41am (and I only know that because when I think I’m running late, every minute at a bus stop is the same as a treadmill minute, or a microwave minute) and I am already sweating balls. Just under 30c/86f with 79% humidity (yeah, I looked that shit up #accuweather) and the walk to the bus stop alone felt like cardio. I board the 143, find a seat, and soak in the air conditioning (itself worth the bus fare). Gazing out the window, I notice a young woman: her black, frizzled hair, slightly smeared makeup, and crumpled dress (combined with the time of day, early Saturday morning) made me think to myself…
“…YOU LOOK KINDA WALK OF SHAME-Y…”
Wow, dude. What the fuck? Did I just think that to myself? Suddenly ashamed and thankful no one else could overhear my unforgiving and unfounded critiques of others, I began to dissect the pop culture catch phrase: walk. of. shame.
“SERIOUSLY THOUGH, WHAT’S SHE GOT TO BE ASHAMED OF? SHE PROBABLY GOT HER’S LAST NIGHT.”
Did you get any? Sex or no, did you have a fun time last night? Sure, she might’ve made a few choices that she regrets at the moment (Korean hangover drinks don’t do shit, btw), but I think it’s safer to assume she had a great time and it was of her own volition.
My bus crosses the Han and I’m left curious as to what her story actually is. I prefer to believe that whatever happened last night to result in her disheveled 9am bus ride, she’d gladly choose to do it all over again.
“WALK OF SHAME? MORE LIKE STRUT OF GLORY, AMIRITE OR WUT?”
I’m glad we crossed paths. Cheers, next round’s on me.