This woman was pregnant in the way that Nicole Kidman was pregnant with Sunday Rose: suspiciously. Remember how thin slash fit she was? Anyway I feel as though this particular woman got pregnant last night. To my untrained eye, I could see no trace of a baby hidden anywhere. And again, not an expert, but surely downing a red bull would be considered not pregnanty. Which made me wonder: how do you get one of those “baby on board” badges anyhow? Do you have to prove it with a doctors note or a sonogram? Because the way my wicked mind is turning, I’m seeing a golden ticket right beneath my nose: guaranteed seat on a tube every time. But really- how pregnant should you be to get a seat in a crowded tube? 
I feel like you could be ready to write me off completely- the above was quite offensive in a number of ways, yes, and maybe you’re realising that I’m the most evil person you’ve ever read. But hear me out: if the reason a 2-day old pregnancy can get a seat is for the fatigue and morning sickness of it all, why not make a badge for “feeling quite unwell” or “rough night last night”? 
Still not right? Well don’t even get me started on the elderly and seats. 
I feel like I should say for the record that I would give my seat to a Preggo, regardless of how slim they were about it, EVEN THOUGH I feel like being a slim Preggo is reward enough.
The most elegant woman got onto the tube at, of course, Knightsbridge. I think my chin actually dropped. Hair coiffed with money. Perfect wing tipped eyes. Yves Saint Laurent blazer. Louis Vuitton clutch which she cradled carefully in freshly manicured hands. Pristinely pressed shorts… Hairy legs. What! If you go to all out and take the utmost care and money in the way you look, why stop at that? And I can live with the “running late, it’ll have to do” length, we’ve all been there- and regularly. But when you plan on short shorts that are to match a 1200£ jacket, shave your legs! 
I know what you’re thinking- “way harsh Holl”, and you’re right: my honest honest opinion is- to each their own. I actually read an article at the beginning of the summer all about how a true feminist would embrace the natural process and leave her legs as they were. But even Cameron Diaz has her limits. 
Anyway at the next stop, another woman gets on and I cannot believe what I’m seeing: two strangers, side by side, both woolly mammoth legs. Is this a thing then? Did everyone read that article and conclude that actually I, the shaven, am the foolish outlier? Would I feel more empowered if I let it go?
Today’s observations seemed quite rude and judgmental of me, I’ll be honest. So know this: karma is a real thing. Half way between Covent Garden and Leicester Square at rush hour, I struggled to pick some hair out of my mouth- I hate when that happens- there’s a gust of wind and your lip gloss acts like a magnet for your locks. Anyway there I am, trying to fix myself when I realise THE HAIR IS NOT MINE, but the girls in front of me. To be fair, she had the longest, most unruly ponytail i’d ever seen. But it gets worse. We get to Leicester Square and the crowded car starts the awkward “I’m going – you’re staying” dance, and pony tail turns around- it’s a man. 

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