Yes, it was exactly what it looked like. I was wearing the gold dress and heels from the night before. My hair was unbrushed. My make up was smeared. My phone had died and I was carrying my bra in the same grip as my purse and headband. It was 9am on a Saturday in downtown LA. This is the walk of shame.
The shame being, of course, not at all related to the obvious fact that I got laid last night, but more closely related to the obvious fact that I knew I would get laid–being a willing and able-bodied female of the species–but chose not to adequately prepare for the occasion. A toothbrush would have been nice, for example, potentially in conjunction with a pair of flat soled shoes.
But perhaps the worst part about it was the animal abuse. I was supposed to feed my landlord’s cat last night. I rushed home and double fed this morning though… after I washed my face with men’s shower gel and borrowed his toothbrush and tore apart his bathroom looking for anything that even remotely resembled a hair brush. I remembered the little mermaid. She was so innovative. She used a fork. I wondered how he would feel if I raided his pottery barn flatware collection.
The moral of the story….
Female sexuality: empowering, yes, but less empowering when you smell like last nights alcohol. The situation was not pretty. I put together a basic survival bag when I got home. One should always assume that if you go out looking for sex, you might find it.