Sometimes I embarass myself

Today I was on my way home from a voice lesson and I think I made half of New York think I'm a sexual predator. Let me explain:

I was riding the 1 train downtown and got off at 42nd street. While I was traveling I was reading Chelsea Handler's "Are you there Vodka? It's me Chelsea." If you've read anything by Ms Handler, you know that she can be terribly inappropriate and hysterical. A person like me who has a hard time controlling their laughter can really make a spectacle of themselves on a public train while reading her books. Here's a passage that is not necessarily going to split your sides, but is a blog friendly cutting about her brief stay in prison for using a fake ID:

"When I got to the booth, there were about fifteen women in line ahead of me waiting to speak with the two women behind the large glass partition. It struck me that this was exactly like the DMV, except we were all wearing the same jumpsuits. There was a large Mexican woman in front of me with a shaved head and tattoos covering both of her arms. She turned around to look at me and didn't drop her stare for thirty seconds. I had already learned through trial and error that the conventional "hello" or "word up" didn't work here, so to break the awkward silence I had to try something new. "I like your head." She said something in Spanish and spit on my feet. Then she looked at me again for an uncomfortably long time.I gave her a closed-mouth smile to let her know I was totally cool with her spitting on me, until she turned back around. She had two large knots above the roll of fat that connected her head to her shoulders, and her back was the size of a suitcase. This was the type of woman you'd want on your side if you were up against a crocodile."

So I got off the train already in tears from trying to swallow back my laughter and as I stepped on to the platform, a new public announcement came over the speaker that I'd never heard before. "A message from the New York Transit Authority: Sexual harassment in the subway is an offense. Just because a train is crowded doesn't mean an inappropriate touch won't go unnoticed." I can only assume that my general good mood combined with the book I'd been reading was what caused the loud gaffaw to leave my mouth. I looked around the platform seeking the eyes of other friendly New Yorkers having a good laugh about inappropriate subway touching, but was only met by cold disapproving stares. Clearly ever woman around me thought I was a subway molester just riding around at rush hour to get my kicks as we stand packed into the car like pickles. And perhaps they thought that my loud laugh was an evil cackle proclaiming my defiance to the system. "Mwah ha ha! An announcement can't stop me! For I am Subway Pervert Man and my hand will proudly graze another thigh!"

I blinked to make sure I wasn't on the Upper East Side then promptly turned red and quickly walked to another train.