The Thong's the Thing

I stopped at the library on the way home the other night to refresh my supply of reading materials. As usual, the line to check out was long and slow-moving. I amused myself by listening to the two twelve year old boys behind me compare the virtues of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the movie vs the book vs the video game. It was almost my turn when I spied a book I've been wanting to read on a nearby shelf. Instead of getting out of line, I set my stack of books on the floor and ducked under the rope to snag it. When I re-joined the line and picked up my books, the boys behind me were whispering heatedly.

"Did you see it?"
"Yeah! Did you?"
"Yeah. Purple!"
"Oh my god!"

That's when I realized they were talking about my thong. Which they must have gotten a couple of good looks at with all the bending and ducking. And which seems to have thrilled them endlessly. I had to stifle the urge to turn around and say "Stop it! I'm old enough to be your mother, you little perverts!" Instead I just stared straight ahead and tried to ignore the fact that they were probably staring at my ass.

Ew.

* * * * *

A Blockbuster Night
Rented: Match Point
Hated it. HATE. What a piece of tripe. Predictable, plodding, pointless. I detested the turn they tried to make with Scarlett Johanssen's Nola about halfway through, from sexy and dangerous to shrill and harping. Also, the lead character was revolting. Waste of 2 hours of my life why don't you, Woody Allen.

Far Better: the movie we watched the night before.


"Don't FUCK with the babysitter"