Let's get two things straight:
1. I know November days aren't your favorite.
2. No matter how much you think so, I am not Marilyn Monroe.
I'm quite fond of you, twirly black skirt. And that's saying a lot, because I have a genuine hatred for all skirts in general. No offense, but I'm pretty sure a skirt was an invention concocted by colonial European men trying to figure out how to make their women more submissive. I mean, not to be crass or anything, but how does something as pleasantly breezy as you cause so much awkward buttsweat and chafing? It's a conspiracy. I'm convinced.
Either way, when I'm attempting to cross campus and get to class in a timely manner, that is definitely not the time for you to dance with the wind. seriously. It just makes it really weird for all the rest of us. I know you like being all twirly and everything, but think about my feelings for just a second. I am more than blushing as I clamp your loose ends around my legs and resort to a strange waddle-like sprint to the classroom in order to keep you in the correct arrangement. This predicament cannot be explained to a male professor on the day my presentation is due, especially not if I'm to retain any shred of professionalism I once had.
I'm not asking much. Once we get inside the safe confines of my car or apartment, you can act up all you want. But when I'm amongst normal people who don't want to have to pretend they didn't see any awkward skirt flair ups, I just ask you to behave yourself. And don't try to tell me I can wear shorts underneath you. The only way your delicate material can manage that is if I wear sports shorts--and then everyone is on to me once they hear the slight "swishswish" and can't determine its origin. You gotta work with me, here. Think you can manage staying ladylike for that small amount of time?
KThxbye.
--Melinda
This. Good grief.
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