I tend to... not really pay attention in class. Well, I do pay attention. I just draw a little. Today wasn't truly my fault in any sense of the word, though.

Today was like any day lately. Rushing from one engagement to the next, I found myself not eating my breakfast- a delicious blueberry muffin from Dunkin' (it's okay- it was low fat anyway)- until around 5pm. It was one of those kinds of days.

My final class of the day- AED 618: Partnership with Dr. Cathy Smilan. It was a lovely day today- the sun was shining, the wind was breezy, and my Professor decided it would be a great day to learn outdoors. The room was stuffy, therefore we lugged our APA Manuals to the stone seating outside of the Group VI building on the UMass campus. By stone, I mean concrete. By UMass, I mean airport.

Vroom.


The sun sets to the right of this building. And it hurt the eyes to look at half of my classmates whilst they sat upon their respective concrete slab space. So my eyes were averted. Down. Looking at my notebook which had notes pertinent to only my study in which I am working this semester.

Now, I am a visual person. I love to people watch... and there was a lot of things to take a look at where the sun wasn't shining directly into my vision. Like the sorority girls in their pink, turquoise, and lavender taffeta togas around 5:30pm. The skater guy who decided to hop the concrete wall separating the stairway from the seating area, just to run through our class meeting and hop the wall again once the benches came to an end around 4:15.

Then there was Man Voice.

At first I noticed her outfit. Some people can pull stuff like this off. I am not one of those people. She was wearing a fringed jean skirt with a black lacy material exposed an inch or two beyond it, a t-shirt, purple tights, and red chucks. I am not one of those typical "art kids". I think it's edgy when I wear my olive green tank under a thin yellow-green t-shirt with some jeans and my sneaks. Edge-ie. But this blond girl pulled it off quite nicely... well, as well as an art kid can pull off something like that. That isn't what bothered me about the girl though. She was talking on the phone. But the voice that bellowed out of this thin, prettyish, art chick was not one of a... well... thin, prettyish art chick.

This was the voice of a baritone.

I was just taken back by it. There I was, sitting on a concrete thing they called a bench, in my olive green tank and my thin yellow-green t-shirt, trying to concentrate on something that Dr. Smilan was stating, and all I could hear was the deep voice of a male opera singer chatting happily on her cell phone. So what else could I do?

I drew.

There it is. The little thing right next to my notes on "Goals of my program" and "IRB necessities" is Man Voice. Like I said- not my fault I wasn't paying much attention in class this evening.

It was the half-eaten muffin and the sun in my eyes.