stereotypical single woman

So I just got done with a workout in the fitness room of my apartment building , it was great, I feel good, but I’m ugly and sweaty. My gym bag is covered in cat hair and a neon mouse cat toy is sticking out the top (they are EVERYWHERE, I’ve found them in my shoes, my bookbag, and my refrigerator.) I get in the elevator, push the button, collapse against the wall, wait for the door to close when who walks in? Carl Levin and his wife.

I was so stunned, and embarassed, that I couldn’t talk. And the thing is, I actually admire the guy. I was bummed that I couldn’t hear him talk at Wayne State earlier this week because I had class. I would have liked to say “I’m proud that you, as a senator from Michigan and the chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, are consistently a high profile pain in the president’s ass.” Instead it was one of those “please pay no attention to the mute red-faced sweaty cat lady in the corner” moments. Oh well, at least I know what floor he has an apartment on, maybe I’ll get the chance later, and hopefully it won’t be when I’m carting my dirty laundry down to the washing machine.