Save the children

Sometimes I love New York. Mostly I hate its guts these days, but not always. It doesn't happen often anymore, but every once in awhile, after this dirty slut of a city has slapped me around and left me a frustrated mess, it throws me a bone, as if apologizing for its transgressions.

Last night, for instance...

While slouching with tired impatience at the edge of the subway platform in Grand Central, I vaguely noticed a girl, late teens or early twenties, standing next to me with a decidedly pissy look on her face. At first glance, all I noticed was the expression, in profile, and the fact that her t-shirt was green. But a few moments later she turned toward me, and I felt my mouth drop open in a mix of shock and wonder.

This, you see, was emblazoned upon the aforementioned green t-shirt:

It took me a moment to fully register this awestriking synchronicity, and then pull my gaze away so as not to appear a boob-starer. (I totally am a boob-starer, by the way; I just didn't want Miss Pissy-Face to know that.) I giggled to myself, suddenly feeling less alone. What a timely reminder that either a) there are others out there like me and I'm not a total freak, or b) everyone in the world really DOES read my blog, and they all want to be me! Either way, I was deeply pleased.

She turned to face the tracks. My gaze, unable to help itself, drifted back to her.

That's when I noticed that she was pregnant.

Oy.

You can imagine the amazing and much-needed jump my self-esteem took when it occurred to me that as emotionally malformed as I may be, at least I have the good sense not to reproduce.

Thanks, New York. I needed that.