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no, this is not THAT moon
Dear woman in line in front of me: While I always dreamt of being someplace where I
could have a clear view of the moon, I surely didn't mean the one above your pants.

It wasn’t like I was trying to look but I just couldn’t help it.

Standing in line in McDonalds inside the shopping plaza on Chelten Avenue, I initially was fixated on getting one of those $1 Sweet Teas to quench my thirst. Running around in the hot sun can be draining. And while water is the best solution, sometimes your palette appreciates a little flavor.  I had been waiting impatiently in line for 5 minutes and I still was nowhere closer to my oversized Styrofoam cup of diabetic deliciousness. Apparently, the young cashier, who must have missed that day in McDonald’s training on how to operate the picture buttons on the register, couldn’t quite figure out how to ring up a customer’s chocolate sundae.   I stood there, thirsty and a bit agitated but I kept my cool, instead opting to draw attention away from my thirst by taking in my surroundings.  There was a homeless man, dozing off in one of the back booths, A pregnant woman with a halter top, flip-flops and a black hair bonnet, screaming at the top of her lungs at her 2ish year old daughter to sit down and stop running around the dining room and a dark-skinned woman with blond shoulder length locks, complaining to her companion about how the fries that she had half-eaten, were cold.  It was pretty calm that day however, if you want a macrocosm of Germantown, definitely checks out the McDonalds on Chelten Avenue.  But even as a regular visitor to the area, I wasn’t fully prepared for what I saw next. There it was, staring right at me at the front of the line, I saw a full moon. 

It wasn’t as magnificent as when I’ve seen it hanging in the sky. It didn’t glow brightly pale against the dark backdrop like a harsh mistress nor did it bring the wonderment of majestic beauty. Unfortunately, up close and personal, the moon was dull and unimpressive.  The woman, who was escorting the moon around on her backside, was also the same woman holding up the line over a chocolate sundae.  She argued and articulated her point with one hand; while the other hand rearranged her top and pulled at her blue nurse’s scrub pants, trying in vain to cover her lunar eclipse.  The more she’d tug, the more the pants resisted its’ upwards mobility towards her waistline. And the rest of us, standing in line behind her, had to witness the moon’s most fatal flaw – her crack. While I didn’t have a ruler present, my best estimation was that there was at least 3 to 4 inches of crack exposed.  Poor moon, your infinite glory has been overshadowed by the hard truth of your rough exterior.

According to estimates of many astronomers, a full moon is only suppose to grace us with her presence 12 times this calendar year, with the next date of arrival on  July 26th. However, as I travel around the city, I am besieged with glimpses of her, peeping over very low-rise jeans, pants and shorts.  As much as I want to criticize the handlers of the moon for their obnoxious presentation of her, I also realize that part of the blame begins on the door step of the fashion industry that has perpetuated this sometimes unsightly trend.  Shopping alone for waist-length pants is almost as difficult a find as Gollum search for his precious, precious ring. There have been many times, when I have stood in the mirror of a department store, trying desperately to wiggle the low-rise up my hip about an inch or two, only to leave defeated and empty handed. And even when I had been impulsive enough to take a pair home (I purchased a pair recently to wear to a party but couldn’t bring myself to walk out the house with them on), attempts to disguise my own personal moon under some low-cut panties and a belt only left me strangely desiring a cranberry muffin.

Now, I don’t say all of this to totally take the girl with the sundae in McDonald off the hook.  No, she had a choice that morning between wearing something more comfortable and what she ultimately decided to put on.  Even if it meant pulling a pair of pants out of the dirty clothes hamper and repeating an outfit, she still had a choice (I would have even been more forgiving if she had on a pair of underwear.  Even if they were exposed, at least I would have been comfortable in knowing that she gave it the old college try). However, when your manner of dress and appropriateness depends on what’s vogue for that season, which usually means that retails stores are overly-saturated with that particular fad, you do have to wonder who else is to blame when you find yourself on the wrong side of the moon.  
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