On board with my furry friends

I've noticed this new middle-aged lady - let's call her Vick Furry* - that wears an expensive fur coat every morning, complemented by a wonderfully huge fur hat, like the ones worn by Soviets in spy movies. I mean, this thing is incredible. I find myself staring at it and wondering what waiting for the train with an animal on my head would be like. I think I would pretend it were still alive and talk to it. Because really there isn't much else to do but stand around and shiver.

*This is joke for comic book dorks. If you don't get it, you're probably cooler than me.

At any rate, hat or not, she inevitably gets into the train every morning in front of me. She has a buddy waiting for her, and so she stops right inside the door, he gets up to let her in, and I'm left waiting behind the Soviet ice princess and her boy toy. For those of you who have rushed to get into trains at rush hour, you know how precious few seats there are, and waiting behind someone while watching the rest of the car fill in the empty seats ... there just are not words for the frustration. Actually there are: I hate her.

I'm most certainly not a PETA sympathizer, but everything about this woman makes me want to scream. Keeping the line of people behind her waiting for her to de-animalize her entire body; flirting with all the old men around her; talking loudly while the rest of us on the train are reading newspapers or sleeping. Maybe I just need more sleep.