style at home

I used to be an independent woman. I drove my own car, paid my own bills, pumped my own gas and made my own breakfast. I even mowed a lawn once in a while. And then along came Adoring and Wonderful Husband, and my inner Damsel in Distress reared her ugly, if perfectly coiffured, head. (Actually, my tresses are just as disheveled as ever, but I have to at least PRETEND I exchanged my autarchy for some good girly reason, n’est pas?) Fast forward half a decade or so, and you’ll find a Slothenly But Deserving Wife who can’t remember the last time she refueled a vehicle let alone did anything to grass besides walk on it or smoke it (Ha! Ha! Only kidding Parental Unit. I just say ‘no!’ when someone is peer pressuring me to stroll atop a lot of Kentucky Bluegrass. Why? Because I know NOTHING GOOD CAN COME OF IT.) So, really, it should come as no surprise that subways do nothing but freak me out and drive me to bury my face in the lap of the person next to me (and I can only hope said lap belongs to an acquaintance, or at the very least someone who bathes on a regular basis).

I hate taking the subway. Faced with the prospect of riding the tube, my stomach spins and my chest tightens. I’m not kidding. The line maps make no sense to me; it’s like I’ve accidentally crossed the bridge into Hull with only my Saskatchewan French (read: English) to guide me. In other words, do-able, but certainly not advisable. Luckily, Adoring and Wonderful Husband likes to fancy himself James Bond-like when it comes to the many forms of transportation, and so I happily take his hand while underground to be led, concerning myself only with any wayward syringes that may be lying around, taking care to ensure that none catch on my open-toed shoes.

But if I were brave, I would plan all my future travels around cities with subways, and I would keep all my stubs and frame them as art. I would become one of those atl-ASS hosts who sneers at guests less well-traveled than them, and who barely tries to contain a snide smirk as they hold their glass of dry white wine limply in their left hand, while casually gesturing with their right to little pieces of coloured paper on their living room walls that hail from Rome, London, Paris, Tokyo, Washington, Sydney… Why? Because humiliation and righteousness make for the most fashionable décor.