Summer in D.C. is a special kind of hell. Not only is one prone to the joys of rashes one can’t scratch in public and mosquitoes thanks to the ultra-humid 90 to 100 degree weather, but one must suffer the ultimate minions of evil – tourists. They come in trains, planes, and chartered buses to boost our economy, take pictures of themselves riding underground public transport for the first time (look at me on the Metro, ma – it’s so very urban!), and to get in every D.C. denizen’s way. Normally, the average D.C. gal can avoid Interloper touristus normalis (a pack animal identified by its possession of a disinterested-looking mate, 1.5 children, the .5 of which is always crying, and a camera firmly attached to one eyeball) through a combination of defensive weaving and offensive backpack wearing.
Yesterday, however, my tourist-avoiding game plan was foiled at the hands of the Women of Faith “Contagious Joy” conference at the Verizon center - a convention evidently, for those who believe in Disney (or at least, the value of wearing Disney characters prominently on one’s body) and the joys of not working out. After crossing F street (which was blocked off due to the sheer amount of holy roller buses), I was awash in a pack of pastel fat rolls with bags advertising Curves as far as the eye could see. I briefly contemplated the merits of screaming at the top of my lungs, “Lesbian coming through. Make way or succumb to the gay plague!” but the last shred of humility I possess intervened. On the bright side of life, I’m now thoroughly humility-free should the Promise Keepers decide on D.C. as their winter conference site.
No comments:
Post a Comment