mapo tofu with a side of nipples

It was a hot sunny day so I wore a tight white button-up tank top, a denim skirt, and an adorable pair of vintage heels that I had just purchased. I decided to Citibike to dinner, my typical mode of transportation. I was headed to Williamsburg for dinner at Antidote and drinks with the girls. Five or so minutes into the 25 minute bike, a monsoon started down pouring. The thing about monsoons, is you don’t know how long they’re going to last. Five minutes, 10 minutes?

I kept biking, trying to duck under the overhangs on broadway when I could. Fifteen minutes later, the sky was still sliced open and dumping rain, but I was so close to the restaurant. I had showered and lotioned before I left the house and could feel the lotion greasing off of me like microwaved slime. My hair was sopping wet, my clothing drenched, even my purse and cell phone were waterlogged. One of my AirPods slipped out of my ear and tumbled underneath a car. I dropped the bike, bent down to get it, realized I had to climb under the car to retrieve it, and emerged with gravel sticking to my pre-mentioned slime legs.

“Great!” I thought to myself, but at least I was close to Antidote. An issue with citibiking in the summer, is that the busier parts of the city usually contain zero open bike docks. That just HAD to be the case this day. I parked it at the closest bike station, a sevenish minute walk from the restaurant. I started my trek and that’s when I realized, my cute vintage shoes had basically disintegrated.

The foam and soles of the shoes had begun withering away, until with just a few steps- the soles fell off all together. Limping in my broken half-heels through the still pouring rain, I finally found a tree to gather myself under. Once I stopped for a moment and looked down at myself, I also discovered my tight white tank top (that I chose to go braless underneath) was now completely see-through and my nipples were openly on display. I pulled out my phone, which was basically useless because of how wet everything was, including my fingers. I tried to dry it on my wet skirt and when that didn’t work, I rubbed it on my skin to try to cause enough friction to it dry up, I took a picture of my boobs, sent it to my friends and told them I had to go home. “At least come wait for your Uber inside so you don’t have to stay in the rain.” They texted.

I hobbled into the nice chinese restaurant, boobs out, leaving puddles with each step. The bar staff and hostesses gave me sad looks and pointed me toward my friends. “Well?” I told them, standing at the table and physically ringing out my denim skirt. “You’re here now, why don’t you just sit down and eat with us.” So, I did.

Yup. I ate dinner at a full house nice restaurant in Williamsburg, sopping wet, with my nipples out. The bar staff graciously gifted us a free round of drinks, which were much needed. I inserted napkins as makeshift nipple covers, though it ended up looking worse. So I said to hell with it, and rocked with the indecent exposure.

Another friend stopped at a target to buy me flip flops and we still went out for drinks afterwards. That was just the beginning of what’s still talked about, as one of our most legendary girls nights. And to think, it all started with a monsoon!