Don't look at me

So this weekend I went to meet up with a cutie at the MoMA and get my culturazation on. So I tried to dress cute. I felt it should be warm enough for my casual summer dress that looks outstanding on me. Unfortunately I wanted to wear flats because this was a first meeting thing and ol' boy said he was 1" shorter than I. And I being of average height for an American male, decided I didn't want to dwarf him. Especially because I know some guys are prone to lie about their height (I once met this gremlin who told me he was 5'9" when I saw in a picture that he looked short. Needless to say when I met him he was all of 5'2" and I thats me being lenient). Also I was going to be walking in a museum for probably 5 hours straight on my feet (ol' boy already said he was looking forward to staying until closing, and honestly so was I) and I wanted something definitely comfortable. Because when my feet start to hurt I get pissy, and things wouldn't bode well for ol' boy if I start to equate him with my pained tootsies.

So I look in my closet for flats that match the dress. My best option were some open toe
sandals. Ok not sandals, they were Jesus slippers. But they were nice and pretty decorative all leather flats. Dangnabit. And on top of that I haven't gotten my seasonal pedicure. My feet aren't rough but I'd rather they look more taken care of. But I figured I would just drag attention away from the tootsies by being so energetic and witty and he'll never notice the feet. Plus I'm perpetually late so I didn't even have time to paint my toes. Sigh

My Jesus slippers look like this↑.

But damn, did my feet look like this↑??

So I'm walking to the train station and keep hearing somebody holla at me. I'm trying not to pay attention when I realize its the parking attendant at the under the tracks parking lot half a block away. But he hollas forever, so I turn and smile and shake my head before he brings more attention to me. But he keeps yelling and waving me to come over to his dark sketchy under the traintracks job. Like I'm crazy.

Oh no I am not going to meet you ↑here

So on the subway in NYC and 2 young cops get on. I feeling like all sorts of inappropriate behavior is going to happen. I'm halfway between glaring at officer Medina because he stepped on the train with his ticket book out and brought back bad memories for me. And halfway giggling because he looked like he was maybe nineteen. He was probably 22 or 23 and kinda cute in a lightskinned way but I still wanted to giggle because he looked like he shined his badge every morning. So I'm giving officer hottie the side eye just in case he's interested (I know I'm on my way to meet another boy, so what, I'm single) but he doesn't really return it and I don't play desperate. I feel like he goes out of his way to stand all near me though. But later I catch him staring.... at my feet. I'm so pissed now, I'm like damn, I got all sorts of beautiful parts of me, I wouldn't even be mad if you were staring at my boobs but why you gotta go pay so much attention to my feet in the Jesus slippers. Fuck. Even when I tuck me feet up under the bench he still stares at them. Officer Medina obviously ain't seen feet before. I don't have any funky bunions or nothing, and my feet weren't ashy or dirty or crazy, they just weren't pedicured. So I'm mad at officer Medina for making me self-conscious on the train.

He made me immediately think my feet looked like this.

Later I caught him gazing at my knees (or I hope it was my knees, it was in my general lap region, I don't think he had x-ray vision so I'm going with knees) which is just odd so I'm thinking he doesn't know the rules for staring. Never get caught staring at some place weird on a woman.