Sunday, February 19, 2006
i spy with my little eye
I like riding on the LRT. If you haven't already figured out, I am a person who likes time alone by myself to think about stuffs going on around me. On the LRT, I get to sit around and observe people - the way they look, the way they dress, the way they behave. Labels: musings
Just the other day, a stunning young lady walked in and took her seat opposite me. She was drop dead gorgeous. Her smooth long locks weaved down past her shoulders. You could tell in an instant she groomed herself very well. Her eyebrows were plucked to form two lovely lines just above her eyes. Her complexion wasn't as perfect (or as fake) as pictures you see in magazines, but that made her even more beautiful.
She wore a spaghetti top but you couldn't see a bra strap underneath. Probably a strapless bra. Probably none at all. Her perfectly manicured fingernails poked out of her long fingers which were resting on her lap. One hand on each lap - she's trying to look very womanly. Below the belt was a nice fitting bell bottom pants that was a shade of a darker colour near the ankles. It was probably wet. She was probably standing under a bus stop when it started pouring earlier. Her toes were poking out from her slippers. Each of them nice and round with cute little toenails freshly cut.
I think she's a model. Either that or someone's paying for all those cosmetic products AND the Gucci on her wrist.
At the next stop a school boy walks in. He is wearing long sleeves and a pair of white pants. Probably a prefect. He sits next to Ms. Hottie. He could have sat next to me and joined me at oggling at her, but he has other priorities. His face spells fatigue. His droopy round eyes close the very instant he hits the chair.
Its hard to believe he is a prefect. His hair is scruffy, but that's probably because it was raining earlier and he might have gotten wet. His fingernails are long and dirty. Against his fair skin, they stick out like a sore thumb. His shirt is untucked but surprisingly, his white pants are immaculately spotless. The shoes are an eyesore - no longer white and a little torn near the tip just a little inside his right toe. My best guess is that he uses it to play football after school.
So, Scruffy falls asleep next to Hottie. In no time, his head begins to fall...first in front of him, then he stirs and picks up his head again. He doses off again, and his head falls to his right - right where Hottie is sitting. Hottie gets uncomfortable as Scruffy's head drops closer and closer to her shoulder. He suddenly picks his head up. Still asleep though.
A minute doesn't pass when he drops his head again. In Hottie's direction again, I might add. Weird how his subconscious mind prefers to lean his head on that side and not towards the rather large Malay woman on his other side. Hottie gets uncomfortable again. What should she do if the head does finally come to rest on her shoulder?
She tries to move her body more to her other side and lean to her right, but there is an old man on that side. Talk about getting caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea. She wonders whether she should prod him as his head drops agonisingly close. She looks up and sees me pretty amused by the whole situation. I am agonisingly close to bursting out with laughter.
I smile at her, somewhat taunting her predicament. She returns a friendly glare, so as to say,"Its not funny...what do I do?" I mime a slapping motion with my hand. She laughs and makes a desperate plea with her eyes. I laugh a silent laugh. She exaggerates bashing up an invisible man in front of her. Just then, I get an SMS. Scruffy is awoken by the phone. He stirs and sits up, but falls asleep again in a flash.
Hottie breathes another exaggerated sigh of relieve, sort of to thank me. I laugh at her again. Silently, of course. I wouldn't want to wake up a tired school boy. No way. After reading and replying the SMS, I look up and Scruffy giving the princess the same problem. She rolls her eyes at me. My smile doesn't get any more mocking than the one I gave her. Just then, the voice in the walls announce that my stop is coming up. I grab my bag and stand up, signalling to her to take my seat. She does just that, whispering a 'thank you'.
I get off the LRT in a playful mood.
I had done my good deed of the day. And for a hot chick, no less.
i interested on the messy boy. all high schoolers are messy. really really. eventhough you put some make up and stuff, sometimes things are not as you expected. you're just messy. for this boy case, he must be damn tired to consider about his appearance.
living in such neat and comfortable life make us forget that some of us are messy.
p/s: looking back at my picture...and seeing a messy boy with no personality. now i have the personality but still messy. hahaha...