Sausage girl
Why does she dress like that?
ANITA ROSS
She could be any nationality, any height, have any skin, hair or eye colour. She could be anywhere right now on this Fort Garry campus . . . (*conspiratorial whisper*) that’s why we have to be quiet. We wouldn’t want to wake the beast, after all. To quote Nelly Furtado (have you lost respect for me yet?), “When-shewalks- you-know-she-walks-withpass- ion.”
Her torso is stuffed like an Italian sausage into a surprisingly expensive top, which, by a tragic stroke of fate, happens to be cream in colour and translucent, thereby creating the illusion of a human-sized condom. But this is no surprise, as the majority of her shirts would be more suitable on toddlers with unusually advanced cleavage development. As for her skirt, which makes no attempt to cover the intended-to-be juicy particle of ass hanging out, I have a little story. Once upon a Polo Park I bought one of those super-trendy thick leather belts in an attempt to make other girls think my mother didn’t still dress me and, therefore, that I deserved respect. Now, this girl I’m referring to bought the same belt, only she uses it as a skirt. Her feet have been impossibly jammed into pointy-toed stilettos that make walking challenging, running impossible, and comfort non-existent. Most passersbys would mistake her posture as an attempt to portray “sexiness,” however a keen observer would note that the reason she walks around like she’s just had an ice pick stabbed in her lower back is because she cannot support her own height and weight. Now that is sexy. Just thinking about those back-arching, wobbly legged, knee-bending, anklesnapping, baby-stepping movements make me feel voraciously, rapaciously, insatiably horny.
She is not a stripper, nor a hooker (at least not yet). She is not at Tijuana’s on Saturday night. It is not Halloween. I’ll tell you where she is . . . If you look up, DON’T DO IT NOW, but if you very slowly and inconspicuously look up you will see her sitting across from where you are reading now. Look. There she is. It’s sausage girl — the busty bratwurst. She thinks she’s pretty hot shit, and if you have a penis and you’re looking for a place to keep it warm perhaps you’d agree — but I beg to differ. These girls dress like they’re going to the bar every day of university. It’s like somehow they mistook their tuition fees for some great big cover charge to a year-long party. I don’t even want to speculate how many hours they spend glued to the mirror — if I find out I might lose all faith in humanity and drown myself.
Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m advocating that we should all dress like shit for university! When I pick out what to wear in the morning I too think to myself, “How can I manipulate clothing to mask my shitty personality in attempts to attract the opposite sex?” but dear God, something has gone horribly wrong on campus. Is getting attention for all the wrong reasons what all the cool kids are doing? What’s left to wear to the bar — sweats and a hoodie? And when did dressing solely to cause fireworks in the harderthan- Chinese-algebra genitals of the opposite sex (so very beautiful, yet so very painful) take precedence over comfort, warmth, and leaving nipples to the imagination? If our little sausage friend dressed the slightest bit more conservatively I might think to myself, “I wonder what she looks like naked; I wonder if she wonders what I look like naked, I wonder . . .WAIT! Was that 0.35 seconds of purely accidental eye contact?! Yes, oh yes. She wants me.” But this train of thought is brutally interrupted when sausage girl deprives my mind of the very basic rights of imagination.
Alas, fear not my friends! The truth is indeed out there. I have seen girls who dress attractively, fashionably, and ergonomically right on this very campus. Don’t let the feisty Frank intimidate you or cause you to become jealous. Have sympathy for her; when it comes down to it, she’s really just trying to express herself in the only way she knows possible; since words are just so big and clunky, and she never really got the hang of them anyway, tee hee!! You could try closing your eyes and pretending it’ll all go away but this won’t work; the click-clack of her masochistic stilettos will echo in the study halls of your soul. Don’t ignore sausage girl, because clearly, attention is exactly what she wants.
