Little Black X

When I was younger I always had a hard time finding things, simple things like a certain shirt in my closet or the apple sauce jar in the refrigerator.  My mother would always ask "Are you looking with your eyes open?"  It seemed like a stupid question to me all those years but its starting to make sense.

The girl standing in front of me in the omelette line had on a red hoodie and gray sweat pants, standard attire for a college girl on a Saturday.  She wore no makeup and she had a pale sickly look to her.  Everything came together when she reached for a plate and I saw a black X on the top of her hand.

So she went to the bar with a few friends, most likely pregaming before they left the room with the four loco they stocked up on yesterday before it became illegal to sell in the state of New York.  Dressed to impress with their 6 inch heels on they attempted to walk to get a cab (I've found that few college college girls actually know how to walk in heels, the rest of them look like they're trying to walk a german shepherd whos just seen a squirrel.)  Anyways, red hoodie girl gets to the bar, has a few drinks, and mostly likely grinds up on some frat guy who has enough vodka in his blood and jager in his piss to drown a baby sea lion.  The nights going great but its about that time.  Her friend finds her in a crowd and says she wants to leave so the four or five of them find their coats, hug a few friends goodbye, and find a cab.  She finally gets back to campus and by this time the walking in heels is completely hopeless.  Shes drunk, the german shepherds tipsy, even the squirrels shitfaced.  Somehow with the combined effort of her and her sidekicks, she manages to return to her room.  She stumbles into her bed and pulls the covers up.  Shes drunk, but she still has the capacity to be able to think to herself "That was a great night."  She closes her eyes and the night turns out to be not so great.  Pretty soon the walls, the ceiling, everything in the room begins to whirl around her, her own personal merry-go-round.  She slides one leg out of bed and puts her foot on the solid floor hoping that it will make the spinning stop, good idea but no success.  She then roles out of bed and makes a dash for the bathroom, knocking things over as she stumbles along.  The rest of her night is spent hailing to the porcelain throne until she finally passes out on the bathroom floor.

In the omelette line I would say that the black X on her hand means about as much to me as it does to her.  Just a reminder, "Hey yeah I was at the bar last night."  or


She could just like drawing black Xs on her hand.

Cheers,
Bhoov