Maybe I need to leave the house more often, or maybe the Upper East Side has suddenly become New York's red light district, but I couldn't believe how many women I saw standing on street corners last night in tit-revealing tops, super short skirts and stripper shoes - the kinds with the ridiculously high heels and the straps everywhere. I'm generally not one to complain about scantily clad women, especially when that special brand of summer horniness kicks in (guys, you know what I'm talking about), but there was something a bit sad about these women. They all seemed like they were trying too hard - like a guy at a club wearing a muscle shirt who flexes every time he raises his beer.
Whether they had the bodies to pull it off, or whether they looked like the woman on 73rd street whose breasts were literally outside her top (it wasn't pretty, but I had to look), they all looked uncomfortable - both physically and emotionally. Give me a slim chick with a pretty face in a t-shirt, jeans and flip-flops, and I'm good. That's exactly what I was wearing last night and no one looked at my tits with pity in their eyes.