Personal Narrative-Abort

“Oh gosh, then which one is the girl’s bathroom?” I thought to myself, quickly turning on my heels as a male teacher passed me in the doorway of what was apparently the boy’s lavatory. “Jesus, abort! Abort!” The warning signal’s flashed bright orangish-red in my mind as I nearly ran back into the hallway turning my scarlet face towards the ground. Spotting the grey sign depicting a perfectly proportioned “person” in a white dress across the way, I walked more confidently in that direction. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, the smell of perfumes and floral lotions assaulted my nostrils, and I let out a sigh of relief as I was now positive that this was the bathroom dedicated to my gender.
Standing at the sink, she was using a wad of paper towels to free her hands of the last few traces of condensation from the running water of the faucet. She looked up at me, obviously startled by the intrusion of another person in the space that she had previously occupied alone. The crease that had formed in between her trimmed chocolate eyebrows seemed to fade, however, as she recognized the identity of the intruder. Her supple, soft pink lips released from their tight pucker as her concentration on her
As I turned in her direction again, I saw her lengthy fingers move elegantly around the plain brown paper, crumpling it and then discarding it in the waste basket. The movement of her hands wound its way all the way up her arms to her shoulders causing her flowing striped shirt to wave its way around her torso, the same way a crinoline petticoat would wind around a French dancer in the 1700s. Its loose qualities only emphasized the tightness of her pants. Fitting like a second skin, her dark blue denim jeans appeared almost black in the light and encompassed her entire legs, contrasting well with her fair toes strapped in deep burgundy gladiator