...for your pleasure.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

A glimpse into a NYC girl's experience getting home safely

The Cheeky Bunny has been dry lately because Cheeksters are either not in need of advice (unlikely) or have little faith in The Bunny's advice (quite likely), so until a friend or a friend of a friend throws up their hands and declares dilemma!, we'll be focusing our entries on developing a stronger Op/Ed voice (in real life, I attempt to write, and am a little rusty). So gearing up for editorials, observations...and of course, rants.

Below shows our literary desperation - we pulled this little nugget from a late night diary entry off our Live Journal.  Just a little peak into a pretty typical end-of-the-night experience of the common drunk female. Or maybe just The Bunny.

You are lucky enough to arrive at your home address unscathed...
You approach the steps to your apartment building, and see a man smoking a cigarette
You become paranoid and tell yourself, "I can't let him know that I'm drunk."
You try extra hard to appear sober, so as to avoid rape
You rustle around in your purse for your keys, looking extra alert
You drop your iPod
You take out your keys, drop your keys
You stumble and fall into the door, and smile what you think is a sober smile at the confused smoker ... he takes it as an invitation.
You bend over and retrieve your keys, and open the door, but slip and the door falls back into you... you're rescued by the smoker
You say "thank you"
He says, "My pleasure..." and follows you into the building...
Survival skills kick in, super human sober strength kicks in (or so you think)You attempt sprinting up the stairs in stiletto fueled paranoia, ("he'll never catch me!")
He enters an apartment on the 2nd floor, you're already on the 3rd, ("I'm going to live!")
Ego check, ("get over yourself")
And thus concludes a rather splendid Wednesday night.

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