The Horror

I don't know which is worse... That the cashier at Target was a kid from my poetry class and I was buying teeny little bras for Imani and one big bra for me or that at the library yesterday I deliberately and obviously peeped out my neighboring borrower's books only to find The Joy of Sex beneath a pile of science fiction novels. I think I'm gonna go with the former. You may say to yourself, "Why didn't she just pick a different line?" The cashier switched just as it was about to be my turn. In both instances there was plenty of mortification and embarassed blushing exhibited by all parties, including Imani. Now I have to go to class aware that the essentially teen-age boy across the room from me knows the details of my unmentionables.