How You Doin'?

Let me set the scene for you:

It is a beautiful early Fall day in New York. There is a slight chill in the air, but the sun is brightly shining and the air is fresh. Despite the cheerfulness of the day, I have decided to sleep in, denying myself a shower, a hair brush, contacts and makeup. I am looking all the more, um, functional (which is, in this instance, just a nicer way to say not my best).

I have decided that a black pair of Old Navy leggings, otherwise reserved exclusively for Yoga classes, and a cowl neck short sleeve sweater paired with glasses, would be the best way to get ready without putting all that much effort in. Afterall, I live in a neighborhood of students, right? I will incospicuously fit right in.

I throw the meager remainder of my liquid cash into my LL Bean Bag which looks all right, but was really a present for being a reluctant Bridesmaid 2 years ago and am sure to lock my non-doorman regulated apartment.

I take it to the streets. Within a mere 20 steps, I am greeted with a look down from a prematurely greying man sporting a buzz cut, Miller Lite tummy, torn t-shirt and crystal blue jeans that were glowing hand-me-downs from the mid-90s (and not in a good way).

Girls, you know the look: "I am creepily and inappropriately undressing you with my eyes. Don't mind me. You are over 18. It is perfectly legal for me to ogle." Gross.

Then, it came:

"How You Doin'?"

Ugh. Bitch, please.

East Village Gypsy Welcomes You!!!!

I am just a girl, a girl in the East Village. I am sort of a Gypsy. But whatever. Welcome!