A Call to Spines

I actually have something really, really important to bring up today. Ladies of the Metro Boston area, I beseech you: QUIT SLOUCHING.

On the real - didn't you people have mothers? I mean, I can almost excuse that your portable music is too loud, and that you refuse to let go of the skinny- jeans-with-heels-trend (it looks messy, seriously. Really, really messy. Say what you will about leggings, but those shits give a very clean line, ok?) and that you insist on chattering on your cellphones in totally inappropriate settings (in line at the coffee shop, really? That barista is just trying to make enough money to buy beer and he doesn't need to know about how bitchy Ambrianaelle was at Ned Devine's last night, or about the jacket you just found on sale at Zara... seriously get the fuck off the phone for like, 2 minutes). There's only so much your mother can do about your shitty manners and lemmingesque fashion sense once you're out of her house, and I'm sure your friends aren't helping matters. But your posture? Why didn't she take care of that? That shit should be like, deeply ingrained by now. But it isn't too late, I promise. Here, just pay attention:

On the T: did you score a seat? Nice for you. Now get all your scarves and shit out of my personal space - there you go, very nice - and SIT UP STRAIGHT. I swear to God, ladies, the next time I see one of you slumped over like the village schnapps fiend, someone is going to have to physically restrain me from reaching over and pushing your torso back until your shoulder blades touch the back of the seat. Whatever, I get it, you're used to squishing yourself down to hide your furious note-writing from the watchful eye of your Calculus teacher, but you're a fucking adult now, so please do us all a favor and lengthen your spine. It's depressing watching you try to get through life all crumpled over like that.

New scenario: You're standing outside, waiting in line at the ATM, smoking outside the bar, waiting for the bus, I don't care WHY ARE YOU HUNCHING OVER LIKE IT HURTS TO LIVE? Good God woman, you look a mess. Chin up, please. I realize all those white boys wearing eyeliner and sweater vests who are singing inside/on your Ipod/in your head are trying their hardest to crush your soul, but try to overcome, dear. Get out of Allston once in a while, try to get around the city without riding the Green Line, and I promise things will start looking up.

And no Uggs with mini skirts this year, ok? I understand that they're warm, I own some myself and I do indeed don them when venturing outdoors. But I also cover my legs. Because it is cold. And while we're at it, can we discuss why you own so many denim skirts? That isn't the same one over and over again, is it? Ok, we'll just pretend it isn't. But still - can you think of nothing else to wear? Challenge yourself girls, please. Really though, I will lay off if you just try to quit slouching. And once you're walking around all upright and whatnot, I'm willing to bet that you won't even feel like skulking around in denim and sheepskin. Ten bucks says that three days after you've adjusted to life at your new height, you're even going to be like "WHY do I keep wearing these extremely tight t-shirts with sexually suggestive text often referencing made-up sports team? Jesus, now that everyone can read it, I just feel like an asshole. Oh my God, why can I smell that Abercrombie store from ACROSS THE STREET???"

It might not happen all at once, but once we get that ball rolling...imagine.

Shoulders back, now. There you go. Almost there.

You're welcome.