Immodesty

I think that there is little more liberating than sitting with one leg flailed onto the armrest of a car door and a gentle breeze from the ac blowing up your skirt, while a policeman with warrant to watch for immodesty sits out your tinted window. I wear my Nissan Pilot abaya with pride as my bathing suit pasta straps. I sit in darkness, glaring at the light. I sit in open rebellion to sexual definitions imposed. but mostly I just sit. Comfortably. I wonder if it feels as good as wearing victoria secret negligees under a hijaab. I can only imagine.

But for today I know that I have stared disapproval in the face. We were vis-a-vis and blind--he hiding behind his uniform and I hiding behind tinted glass. This happens more often than anyone dares to admit in our polyphonous societies.