I’ve lived in Chicago for a little over eight years.
This makes me, I would think, a city girl.
And I feel that way when I march down Michigan Avenue, avoiding tourists with giant shopping bags.
Then I do something like slam into the CTA turnstile, because even though every, single day my card doesn’t work at this particular one, I use the same one anyway.
There is nothing less urban chic than misusing the CTA.
I recovered last night by lunging into the next lane ahead of another commuter, mumbling “sorry” and rushing downstairs to catch the red line train.
I got myself to Cafe 28, where I was meeting JW for dinner, and once again, was feeling on my game.
Meeting your fiance for Cuban food and drinks.
Sounds like a pretty good night.
Then I tripped up the steps in my snow boots.
Watch your step, the sign sung at me.
This time I recovered with a glass of white wine and plate full of duck.
I tripped down the steps on the way out.
I never learn.
Tonight I’m headed to our work holiday party (which will probably, in all likeliness, end here), and then tomorrow is thankfully, blissfully, Friday.
Four more days of work and I’m headed out, chicks. Hopefully you can say the same!