Dear woman in matching pink velour track pants and hoody. Where do I even begin with you?
You and your wildly outdated outfit and totally tacky matching pink tote came rumbling down the stairs and before I even noticed your heinously matched outfit, I was aghast at your ass which occupied its own small stratosphere. If I had an ass that big- I would wear black, black all the time, you chose barbie vomit pink. Not the wisest choice to showcase your ample derrière.
You got to the subway platform and proceeded to whack me and everyone in your path as you made your way to the tracks. There was no car there yet mind you, but it seemed that you just couldn’t wait to be close up to the doors to come. Funny enough cow woman, the doors passed right by you and opened right in front of me. This made you mad cow girl, didn't it? You just saw those doors and the possibility of doing less physical movement wiz right by you didn’t you? 


So instead or graciously waiting like every other person in the subways station did for the current passengers on said car to unload, what did you do? You just shoved your way right through them. I saw you shove them, hurt them with your ginormous body, look them in the eye and keep going wall the while shoveling your face with a half eaten McDonalds ice cream cone and gazing at a cheap ghetto pink cell phone. 


Who could you be texting in a subway terminal with no reception? Likely you are playing bejewelled and don’t give a shit that you have just stepped on a poor old ladies toe while trying to wedge your way into an optimal subway spot for the ride North.


I giggled inside because, you moron, all you have done is crammed yourself and every one of your chins into the very center of the car where I hope you get sweaty upper lip from being squeezed by those around you.
I of course, having waited like considerate people do to board the car, get a much better spot near the doors. Boy cow woman, did you take a shining to me that day because through the crowd you pushed just to get the spot I was occupying. Since I am about one tenth your size, you won the battle and I was shoved into some man’s armpit for the next 3 stops before you waddled your ass off the car at St.Clair station.
I call you a cow woman, not because your body literally resembled a cow, but because you just moved through people like an unaware stupid animal who you can only feel sorry for because it is certain that their brains are so small and irreverent that they cannot possibly comprehend how cow-ish they actually are. Also because you chewed your gum with your mouth open for 30 minutes straight.

And hey cow woman, as a big fat PS. Velour tracksuits went out with moonboots.
What what.