In an open letter to the women’s restroom in the Boston Logan airport,
“Well, okay. All of the human smells. One bathroom. With soothing music in the bathroom. Okay.”
“Well, okay. All of the human smells. One bathroom. With soothing music in the bathroom. Okay.”
“So, if you’re going to be a thing, can you work in my favor sometimes? For example, the stereotype of black women are super intimidating/scary should stop people from letting their children virtually crawl on me in public spaces. If I sneeze, this little girl next to me is going to get the full force of my mouth mist.”
“Your pacing is freaking me out. Also, why do you pace away from your things and then stand directly in front of me for a pause?”
“No headphones, eh?”
“Please help me avoid asking that man if he dyes his very thick, very dark mustache.”
“My voyeuristic eye zoomed in on this public intimacy. Now, I am fixated on your dirty fingernails.”
“I’m having a hard time reconciling the tightness of your ponytail with the looseness of your lips.”
“You are cramping my style.”
“Did you seriously say that you wouldn’t have carded that woman based on her arms alone?”
“Um…. That didn’t make me feel safe….”