Rats

I just e-mailed my (very anti-Botox) friend Jen saying how I am already losing my shit at home in east bumblefuck, but that I'd rather find a job in Miami or somewhere aside from New York because I simply cannot deal with the rodents, rodents and more rodents.

This is what she e-mailed me back; further confirmation that not only are subways truly evil, but also that I don't think I'll be back in Manhattan anytime soon except at the Four Seasons.

"Ha, I thought of you the other day as I was heading home from work—I glanced down the platform where this girl was standing and reading a magazine and this rat ran up to her and sat on her foot! She just looked down and gave her foot a shake, totally unfazed. Now, I'm not afraid of rodents, but I would definitely give a jump and girly scream if a rat took a rest on my foot."

Um, I would have screamed loud enough to call in the NYPD, hyperventilated, then passed out. That girl? The very definition of jaded New Yorker.