A Comedy of [Ex-] Errors

Picture the scene:
it's a wet and obscenely humid day; the smell of rain hangs in the air. i'm sticky and sweating, more than normal. my hair is huge and although the curls are defined and full, thanks to humidity, it is rather afro-like and cow-lick-y around the forehead, yes thanks to the humidity, and the genetics of the ancient Hebrews. i'm smack in the middle of a school day, running errands between brooklyn and manhattan, wearing ripped paint-splattered jeans that are too big on me, with a hole in the crotch, and velcro sneakers. i am still sweating; salty beads dripping down my chest, being absorbed by my blue bra. i didn't sleep enough last night and my eyes are tired. no gloss on the lips, not even chapstick. i'm most likely tainted with and offensively reeking of hydrobromic acid and calcium chloride pellets from today's endless organic chemistry lab. i'm probably 8% radioactive and should not be touching others until i have thoroughly cleansed. i have 4 daily news newspapers sticking out of my bag, each with a half-done su-do-ku and almost-finished crosswords.

cut to:
i walk briskly past radio city music hall, marvel at the purple-robed graduates, congregating outside. think to self, "aww, that's nice. hunter. i like graduations." enter subway station at 47-50th streets. lament not treating myself to fancy dean and deluca latte in rock center. look up from disheveled appearance, suddenly lock eyes with . . . ex-boyfriend's wife, emerging from subway staircase. feel confused, "hey, i know that face. wait a minute... what a coincidence.." nervousness. dart eyes to the right, see purple-graduate-robe-clad ex-boyfriend materialize next to brand new wife, also emerging from subway steps. feel flustered. hot. why am i still sweating? take 3 steps backward. smile. awkwardness. exchange hi's, am told that ex's mother and step-father are mere steps behind me. swivel maneuver. suddenly surrounded by many family members, descending upon the subway cement quadrant into which my tired sweaty disheveled overwhelmed feet are currently stuck. wait, am i naked? am i about to give a speech? is this the dream sequence? brain filling with carrie-bradshaw-esque thoughts "DAMNIT. this isn't my perfect date outfit!" and when asked what's new, respond with "i'm gonna be late for school." [ref: "i have a baby." "i, have a date!" - see sex and the city, S. 6, Ep. 1, 2003.] as a side note, i happen to be carrying the very starbucks stainless steel mug i [accidentally] stole from ex's house in 2000.

location change:
ride downtown B train with said ex-boyfriend, wife, mother, and step-father. have conversations on train, contents of which i now cannot recall, lit by bad flourescent lighting and a faint stench of day old beer and wet socks. nervous giggling. study family members. have a laugh at graduation robe's silly fake sleeves under actual sleeves. you know, the straight-jacket type. overwhelming. act like 7th grader. still sweating. the party ends at west 4th.

proceed to finish su-do-ku on ride to brooklyn.

super-human su-do-ku speed severely hampered by spontaneous underground family reunion and abnormally high levels of sensory overload oxycoagulase coursing through bloodstream.

fade out.