A Singaporean Bus Ride (Part 1) v2

Armed with the new teal hobo that was fresh off the courier’s grip, you strode down the void deck towards the bus stop with a look of triumph. The maroon mini-dress that you selected specially to complement the new trophy cradled in your right arm was perfect for the slightly humid Singaporean afternoon. Today, the combination of Chanel’s Platinum Egoiste and the espadrilles bought last weekend made you feel fresh and cool despite the temperature being slightly off the scales.

Seeking the sheltered portion of the orange-roofed bus stop, it was necessary to walk pass two middle-aged men sitting on the first bench and another teenager (in his junior college class T-Shirt) leaning by the rails near the third (and last). Bathing in the attention given by your male counterparts, you self-consciously looked away in the opposite direction – towards the source of oncoming traffic. The satisfaction from all the attention soon metamorphosed into something ominous when you realized the hot gazes through the dress, on the bare skin of your back were from sweaty old men that grinned whenever you turned around to comfort your insecurity. The youngest male within your gaze detection radar had directed his focus to a hand phone, smiling to himself as he nimbly prod around the small area containing a number pad. You started praying earnestly for the bus to arrive, but every bus seemed to whiz pass with no sign of your 3-digit bus number on the displays in front. Besides, the 2.5-inch wedges of the espadrilles were starting to have an effect on the balls of your feet; after five minutes of striding and seven minutes of standing like a pageant queen. The temperature was finally getting to you, and you begun to fidget around in irritation. Although the skin at the balls of the feet is the thickest amongst the rest of your body, the merciless friction followed by intermittent threats to your pain threshold, made you believe it to be baby-soft and tender. Drops of perspiration concocted with heat, mental and physical discomfort oozed through the foundation on the side of your face. Adjusting the lacy hem of the dress, you hoped that the mini would show less of your juicy, fair flesh (just for now).