I was sitting opposite her on the tram today. I did not really look at her but summed her up as a daggy middle aged Euro woman in black. After a bit I looked at her face, from behind my sunglasses. It was creased but she wasn't as old as I initially thought. I was quite preoccupied with texting. But I glanced at her again and thought, ah, you are not so old. Then I noticed she had a large back pack on her lap. She was holding it with both hands wrapped around it and hmmm, she had each of her fingernails painted a different colour. I looked more intently at her face and noted that her eyebrows were drawn on quite perfectly. Foundation on her face, yes, but no lipstick or rouge or eyeshadow. Her hair was black and short and kind of krinkly.
My, what would her toenails look like? I looked down and her feet were wrapped in black leather shoes, that looked respectable and with a small heel.
She stood as we approached Flinders Street and arranged her long black skirt so that it sat well over her fairly large hips. Her top was almost a cheese cloth fabric, also in black. She adjusted that too. No one could describe her as hot or glam, but she made the best of what she had. The different coloured nails made her a bit of a rebel in her middle age. I liked her look. She seemed like an interesting person.
But then I was distracted by a big nosed eastern European looking lad with lovely coloured skin who was standing with his crotch about 6 inches from my face, with his hand on an overhead strap I could see his armpits because of his gaping tee sleeve and a tiny bit of his stomach with a nice snail trail of hair up it.
Sometimes I have my doubts about myself, but truly, I know which side of my bread is buttered.