This morning I traveled by train and found myself sitting next to a very large lady. Not large as in overweight, but LARGE. My guess was she was of Tongan blood, as the Tongans are often very tall and big boned. I felt small next to her. My hands looked like dolls hands as I knit next to her hands holding a mobile phone. She had tattoos on her forearms and was wearing skin-tight clothing, her hair pulled back into a disciplined ponytail.
Now you will have to trust me when I tell you that I was truly bowled over by her beauty. I am often shy of being tall and large, and in my own eyes, ungainly. But here was someone who could probably top my weight by another 40 pounds and my height by another 4 inches and she was beautiful. In another century she might have been painted by Gaugin. The fifteen minute journey next to her had given me the intoxicating perspective of being dainty.
Still recovering from the experience of skewed perspective, as if I had looked down the telescope the wrong way, I had another shock. This time it was a bus. Written in large capitals above the driver were three words that would simply never be uttered in many parts of the world.
SORRY, BUS FULL.
The life lessons you can learn from travelling on public transport.