the Greater Nomadic Council

The Zebra Skirt

I had my first note-worthy observation of the semester the other day. I was standing in the rotunda before class, resolidifying in the artificial cool after walking a mere two or three hundred yards from the parking garage to the building. The heat had me hunched over my steering wheel on the way to campus to prevent my back and shirt from melding like melted plastic. Even the breeze became an enemy, so hot it only made me sweat more. So, I was resting against the marble walls, pretending I stood in a meat locker when I noticed an unfortunate girl walking across the rotunda and turning down the eastern wing. She was a meek, glasses-wearing brunette carrying a few extra pounds along with her books. She wore a black and white knee-length skirt and a pale pink halter top. While dressed smartly enough, she no doubt would not be immediately accepted by the blonde, malnourished fashionistas who comprise the more visible portion of the university's girls. Apparently, she had just come from the restroom—the back of her zebra skirt was tucked into the top of her pink panties. While I suppose she could be grateful that she didn't go thong that day, I'm sure the unexpected feel when she sat down of cold plastic against the backs of her bare thighs brought her an instant blush and sickening stomach. From what I saw, no one rushed to inform her, though there was no wake of giggles either. I would have, perhaps, warned her myself, but my heat-induced torpor made the twenty or so feet between us into an impassable marble desert. I could only think, "poor girl" and restrain from chuckling.