Exhibit A

Artist: Makan (Max) Emadi

I have a fair amount of free time on my daily commute to dwell about obscure things (between singing along with some age inappropriate song and fantasizing about my 30-year old Cuban doorman). Today I found myself thinking about last night's post. In reality, if I had been really concerned about exposing my ass to the morning/evening residents of Washington Heights, I would have borrowed a pair of Fang's briefs to wear under my dress. I admit it--there is a part of me that is something of an exhibitionist.

Don't worry, people. I'm no perv lurking in dark corners bent on luring innocent schoolchildren into seeing something that will stunt their mental growth for the next 50 years. I'm just curiously comfortable with my body. I shouldn't be. I have enough extra weight hanging from my limbs that I should rightly be wearing a burka. I come from a set of parents who thought nothing of parading around naked. I wasn't so comfortable with it then being a self-conscious adolescent and all but now that I'm in in my fully-fleshed (literally) adulthood, I am utterly at ease.

Yeah, I have cellulite and the tits ain't exactly pointing skyward anymore but I've grown into this body (literally) and I'm pretty darned comfortable with it. Half the time, I wander around the apartment in my skivies which usually alarms Fang. He's worried about the lack of privacy that comes with a New York City address. He's clearly not looked out of the windows--the neighbors are even more undressed than I am.

So honestly, I wasn't concerned that the senior citizen sweeping the bricks in front of Boricua College caught a glimpse of my ass. I know it wasn't pretty to see in the stark light of the day but I like to think he admired the breeziness (literally) of the situation.

I certainly do.