Is there anything quite as humbling as the TTC ROS (Ride of Shame)? You wouldn’t think so, by its name. But I’ve learned to take Joseph Heller to heart when he wrote (in Catch 22) ‘Maybe that’s the answer. To boast about something we ought to be ashamed of. ‘ Thus, if you’re going to greet Front Street at 8:30am on Sunday sporting cleavage, liquid eyeliner and hair that screams of passionate tugs and caresses, you best strut past the families en route to Centreville and make them feel as if they are shamefully overdressed. A cab ride might reduce the shame, but I enjoy the looks on the faces of everyone on the 9am subway; they catch my eye, take in my attire and quickly avert their eyes. Always one to relish in awkwardness, I smirk behind my java, and ponder silently why others feel uncomfortable with daytime sexuality. Besides, there’s something self-fulfilling about taxis; they reinforce the notion that you ought to be embarrassed about your activities of the previous night and scurry for cover. And I don’t scurry. Especially not in 3-inch heels.

Come September, the realities of ‘real life’ shall kick in as I watch half of my friends return to school while I curse the TTC en route to my 9 to 5(30). Wisdom should accompany real world responsibility, it seems only fair. Some may feel that 20-somethings should know better than to let a guy Johnny-Ray you in bed (i.e., somehow make you feel like you created all those promises yourself when he did all the talking). I can tell you the difference between correlation and causation, write a 20-page research proposal in one night and get a 90 on an 8:30am exam while drunk but don’t ask me to apply any of this logic to the male gender. When it comes to understanding the whims of those with a penis, I am all sensibility with no sense.

Like they say, practice makes perfect, and thus, two months out of university, I find myself relearning a familiar truth disguised as my first ‘real world’ lesson: Your head will play games with you but your gut will never lie. I am fantastic at inserting emotion into neutral spaces and a good year of emotional hangovers should have driven the message home that one can never fool her heart. Most people learn to trust their gut. But if you’re like me and get off on watching caution billow in the wind, take heed. Sunday sun hurts your head– sneak Advil in your clutch; avoid sewer grates while in heels and bring a cardi along as the Lakeshore is rather windy in the early morn’. And finally, keep your chin up and your knees together. Dressing up for the TTC is nothing to smirk over; an exposed Britney is up for grabs!

Samantha Evans