I was flabbergasted. Stunned. Speechless.
It could be a full moon, or that the heat from the burning tyres of F1 race cars were so stifling and uncomfortable that scantily clad skanks were out in full force.
It was almost 11pm, and I was so frustrated at the lack of cabs that I Zen-ed out at the taxi stand, staring at the crowd walking past while waiting for that one elusive cab to take me home. Till I saw her.
She mustn't have been any more than 25, and perhaps she thought she looked hot and sexy but boy was did she thought wrong. Decked out in a corset, a cheap frilly tiered skirt, sky high platforms, cheap hair extensions (because they looked taped on and they were in a different shade than her own hair) and a face full of makeup that would make Cirque du Soleil look pale and sickly, she paced the taxi stand.
She looked like a backup dancer from the set of Moulin Rouge without the figure, or just a sad streetwalker who caters exclusively to clowns.
It was sheer horror.
I looked away because it made me angry. Angry that she could leave the house looking like a streetwalker and her family didn't stop her, and angry at myself for even being mad at her in the first place.
I turned away, and I caught people staring at her so I guess I wasn't the only one appalled. I don't know what they thought but if I have a daughter, she will not leave the house in what looks like underwear!