On this bus ride, I am accompanied by my friend and fellow American, Sarah, whom you may remember from previous posts. We are sitting in the very last row of seats, having a jovial time, anticipating the fun that would surely ensue at the party we are on our way to. But why should we wait for the party for the fun to start? Isn't life really about the journey and not the destination?
Yes.
And so, we meet our entertainment.
A twenty something enters the scene (bus). She is with her toddler-sized daughter, clad entirely in pink, complete with leash. Twenty Something's own mother, (the tot's grandmum) is also with them.
Upon noticing that Sarah's and my knees are about her height, Leash toddles over to us and embraces them (the knees) fervently. We do not find this especially strange or uncomfortable until Grandmum encourages Leash to sit on our laps. Somehow, we employ our body language to convey that we prefer Leash and her leash keep their distance. Leash begins flopping around like a fish out of water, rolling around under the seats. The leash is now completely superfluous. It is not securing Leash to anything whatsoever. Twenty Something and Grandmum don't seem to mind, though. Something else has caught their attention.
"You better get rid of that!" Grandmum screeches in our direction.
Sarah and I look at each other, startled.
"Get rid of what?"
Grandmum gestures to my exposed thigh. I am wearing a pair of shorts which is neither incredibly revealing nor horribly conservative.
"That cellulite!"
It is at this point that every passenger with a bottom jaw introduces it to the floor of the bus.
“Excuse me?” I reply.
“Look at your legs! That’s horrible! You need to get rid of that!” she barks on.
“MUM!” Twenty Something exclaims, embarrassed as can be at her mother's shameless declaration.
It's bad enough being insulted. Imagine being insulted by someone with an Australian accent about something you were completely unaware of about yourself, on a bus filled to capacity. At the time of these happenings, I don't even know what cellulite looks like. But that's neither here nor there. Cellulite or no cellulite, there are several things wrong with this scenario:
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| Good ol' 461 |
#1) The way I am sitting reveals nothing short of an average thigh. Nothing to be admired, but nothing to scorn.
#2) Even if I am the fattest person Grandmum has ever encountered, (which, at 65 kg, I am assuredly not) her behaviour is far from appropriate."What are you talking about???" I ask, urgently. "I don't see any cellulite...." (True as this statement was, like I said, I wouldn't have known what to look for.)
I look at Sarah for any shred of confirmation that my legs are not the epitome of all things hideous. She confirms.
Grandmum continues, “Well you have it and it's right there!”
Her hand makes contact with my thigh so as to better show me the "problem area." I abruptly inform her that I neither approve of such contact, nor such degrading remarks, regardless of their alleged accuracy.
Twenty Something pleads again for her mum to behave. Leash is still tumbling about among the other riders, every one of which is observing the Cellulite Showdown. Leash is probably the only being on board who is not paying attention. And that includes the driver.
Twenty Something pleads now for Grandmum to grab Leash's leash, as Leash is getting even bouncier, and Grandmum is much closer to her. Grandmum does not comply. She is far too engrossed (no pun intended) in something much more threatening than her granddaughter's potential head-trauma: the aesthetically displeasurable nature of a stranger's legs.
"Look at her legs!" Grandmum instructs Twenty Something.
Twenty Something follows her mother's lead, forgets about Leash, and focuses on my thigh. She appears to mull it over. Cellulite or no cellulite? That is the question. For a split second, I swear she wants to agree with Grandmum, but Leash needs rescuing, and Twenty Something abandons the thought of my thunderous thighs. I almost react as if I can't believe she would leave me hanging like this after all we've been through with her insane mum on this crowded bus.
Sarah and I think this can't possibly get any more bizarre. Then Grandmum sits down on the floor and begins demonstrating butt and leg exercises to me.
"This is the kind of thing you need to be doing! It's the only thing that works!"
Though this sounds comedic, I can assure you, she's quite serious and quite angry with me for not "keeping myself in shape." She is sincerely concerned for my condition.
I must mention now that throughout this whole ordeal, though I am highly offended, I am also highly amused. I've never been more insulted, laughed harder, or felt more compelled to work out in my life. What an absurd assortment of feelings. Although, not surprisingly, I am now somewhat self-conscious about my legs.
Finally, the bus arrives at the three strange females’ stop and Twenty Something and Leash promptly make their escape. Grandmum isn't done with me, though. The driver is highly annoyed and waits impatiently with the door open for her to exit.
She growls at me again: “How old are you anyway?? I’m 47 and I’ve got better legs than you do! Look at this!” She smacks her ass in my direction. Twenty Something is watching from outside, horrified.
"MUM!!!!!! GET OFF THE BUS!!!"
She finally leaves, albeit reluctantly.
I feel like this family should invest in another leash.
This event took the cake for the most socially unacceptable spectacle I had ever witnessed. But then a few weeks later, we ran into some people having sex outside near Town Hall. And that's that.
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