Changing

You know you're strapped for time when you resort to changing in the car. Though the following happened a little while ago, things like this seem to happen because I take time-related risks almost daily (like parking in 30 minute zones for 7 consecutive hours of class).

I was driving home from an appointment and had to make a 3:00 practice but, true to form, had packed my day so tightly that I had to change for practice in my car. As I was driving. So at every red light I would ready myself for a quick switch of some article of clothing for another. I must say, I have a slight talent for sneakily changing. I've got tricks.

I was getting ready to change my pants and slowed for the red light while holding my shorts in my right hand. (Pants are one thing that I don't have tricks for). So I pulled of my jeans and was ready to quickly switch them out for my shorts when the line started moving. Crap. I put on the gas while praying that the next light would be red.

For some reason when you are feeling the most vulnerable (I can't imagine too many more humiliating situations to be in while driving down 8th North), you notice just how bad of a spot you're in. The cars that flanked my low-riding Honda were trucks that had recently met up with a lift kit. I swear everyone was peering down into my car.

Naturally, every light from when I took off my jeans to when I got to the field was green. Every. Single. One. Never once did I get a chance to quickly slip on my shorts, so instead I covered as best I could while trying to keep my eyes on the road and put the awkwardness and total me-moment that the whole thing was. Retrospectively speaking, it was mildly hysterical.