All the answers were pretty easy to answer. For example, question one read: if you were walking past a pair of Manolo Blahnik's would you...
(a) go in immediately and buy a pair even though you can't possibly afford rent in New York, much less $1000 shoes, on a columnist's salary, (b) stare past the shoes and coo at the cute baby indoors because even though you could be a widely successful art gallery owner, you'd much rather play Mummy, (c) go in and start having sex with the cute salesman with the shoes on, of course, (d) admire them for a minute, then walk away wondering how they can justify those prices.
Clearly, I choose C.
Right.
Anyways, so these questions were all pretty straight-forward, and I started to realize that I was far more of a practical Miranda than a fanciful Charlotte, when I hit this question and could not, for the life of me, pick between A and D.Today, I met my best friend J for lunch. We headed towards the bus stop, catching up and laughing the whole way. Then, during one of J's long speeches about nothing, I glanced up and saw a blast from the past walking down the street. Towards us. He looked up at us, and then down at his phone, and then back at us and the surrounding street-walkers. There was no change in his facial expression. No clue that he was secretly freaking out about meeting face to face for the first time since our last week of undergrad.
I was horrified.
I looked like a mess. I hadn't had time to shower, and I was wearing a skirt that had a peanut butter stain on it. My hair hadn't been properly brushed for weeks, and pimples were waging war on my T-zone area (and winning by a landslide). And the Boy was in the library, instead of out there with me, where I could properly show him off.
And I couldn't believe there was no sign of recognition on his face as he glanced over us. Med school might have sucked the soul right out of me, but my facial features are still the same.
J kept talking, oblivious to my freak-out session. We started getting ever nearer, and just as we were about 50 yards from crossing paths, I grabbed J's arm, and ran away.
Yup. No explanation. No quick hi or hand wave. Just a tugging at my best friend's arm, and a quick getaway, eyes averted.
Maybe I am a Carrie after all.
The best part of all this? J kept on talking the whole time, completely in the dark as to what was causing all my strange behavior. "You're always like that," he replied when I asked, before segueing effortlessly back into the twisted plot lines of One Tree Hill.
