The weather in Toronto is glorious right now, except for that super pesky wind-thing that’s happening. Because, well, yes, I was that girl who was walking down Queen Street minding her own business and *whoosh* the bottom of her dress was no longer hitting at her knees, but was instead up around her entire face.

Yes.

I am nothing if not classy.

But I will tell you something…I’d rather be the accidental kind of unclassy and not the kind of unclassy the girl I rode the subway beside yesterday was guilty of. Oh man. So, yesterday, shortly after POTATO TUESDAY happened, I started to feel some belly gnomes auditioning for So You Think You Can Dance. It was bad news, I tell you. I had run all of these scenarios in my head, including one of the entire subway system being shut down due to a sick passenger. But, I decided that instead of moving into my office for good and crawling under my desk for a nap, I needed to take some tums and take my chancesUnCla and hope for the best.

So, while I stood on the subway, counting down the potato-free stations and counting how many were left until my stop, I distracted myself by people watching. It’s, by far, my most favorite game to play. There was the English couple who were playing the perfect tourists. There was the brand-new couple who were experts in canoodling. There was the adorable girl who did not know how to walk in heels. There was the hipster boy eating an ice cream cone on the subway (WHAT? Ew). There were the three teen girls who had no idea where they were going. And then there was the girl, the unclassy one, having the following conversation with her co-worker.

“OH! Do you want to see my engagement ring again? I can’t stop looking at it! It’s really amazing in all its 4-carat glory, isn’t it?”

“….”

“My fiance got it from THE JEWS.”

“…”

“You know, the super orthodox ones. They have cornered the market on diamonds, you know. They work really hard to rip people off…but they give special deals to other Jews. So we were lucky that way. That’s how I was able to get 4-carats. But, my god, they are such money grubbers. It’s sickening, really. And they don’t speak English as a way to intimidate. I think it’s like Hebrew or Yiddish or something gross like that.”

“….”

“So, anyway, we went to this wine-and-food tasting event last weekend. It was so amazing. I gained 3 whole pounds from it. And you know, I was wearing 4-inch stilettos, so I think people were a little intimidated by me.”

“Wait..were you not super uncomfortable standing around all night in 4-inch heels?”

“NO. Because I buy the really good AND REALLY EXPENSIVE shoes that are not, like, crap, like ALDO.”

“I think my wife wears ALDO.” (As do I. Often.)

“Um, want to hear about what my wedding dress is going to look like?”

“…”

And you thought it was the potato that made me want to hurl…

Yes, folks. I’d rather be the girl whose dress blows all the way up; that kind of non-class is excusable, at least.