I swear I feel like Mrs. Wiggins today from the Carol Burnett Show.
I'm wearing this skirt which narrows down at the bottom which makes it impossible to walk fast. "Here let me get that for you," I tell a library patron. As they stand and wait at the service desk, I head off for the shelves, slowly inching my way across the room, forced to take baby steps, the hem of my skirt hugging me around the knees.
I get my arms into the act, trying to propel myself forward, but the skirt holds me back. I wonder whether jumping would be faster. But I would have to jump with both legs together, and would resemble a disabled kid in a sack race at the school picnic, afflicted with middle-aged hips and varicosed veins, and chocolate drool on her chin.
Well, this is a library, after all, not the Quickie Hut, and we've never promised to be fast. I really don't think it should bother anyone if I take a little longer with my coming and going today. What's weighing on my mind is the end of the day, and trying to get out of here and get home. It's a long, long, walk out to the parking lot.