Yesterday I took Bella to Chipotle for lunch. As we sat down, I noticed the table next to us had two girls in their late teens/early twenties chatting away.
One of them looked like she just stepped off a movie set. Dolce and Gabbana glasses, high heels and skinny jeans, perfect hair and makeup. She’s picking at a salad. Her friend is more low key; sandals, torn up jeans, messy hair.
Being less than 3 feet away, and having a rather poor conversationalist sitting with me, I can’t help but overhear them. I don’t really listen in right away until:
Low Key girl: “I’m just not really sure what to do, it’s so hard, you know? I need to dress thinner I think.”
D&G girl: “You either need to lose weight or get a boob job. It’s that simple.”
At this point I’m all ears. Because really, anyone who uses that kind of logic is worth a listen.
L K: “You’re right.” ::sighs:: “Big boobs make you look so much smaller. It’s like your fat just melts away into…your boobs.”
Ah, the SMARTS behind that statement.
D&G: “Everyone is doing it. Look at Lindsey – no guy even used to look at her and now they all do. What’s that about?”
L K: “I know, she has a boyfriend, did you know?”
D&G: “That’s good, I was so worried. And after that haircut I thought she’d never meet anyone.”
Note to self: Bad hair means life long loneliness.
D&G plays with her cell. The other girl stuffs down a few more bites while she isn’t looking. How are these two friends?
L K: “Sometimes I worry about Trish. She’s so self conscious.”
D&G: ::flippantly:: “I would be self conscious too if I were her. She looks like a troll.”
Z.O.M.G. Is this chick for real? Is this conversation for real? Because it feels like a scene from Mean Girls.
L K turns to look at Bella who has completely swiveled around to see them. “Oh wow, she has the longest lashes!”
“I know,” I say smiling at her. “She’s going to love that later on in life.”
D&G looks up from her phone to glance at Bella. She watches her eat the kids meal (beans, rice, a quesadilla) and I wait for an off the wall comment. Surprisingly I hear:
“She’s adorable. How old?”
“Almost a year and a half,” I say. Perhaps this is going somewhere sweet. Maybe she has a cousin or niece the same age. Surely no one can be as shallow as she is coming off right now…
Her jaw drops and she leans forward with a look of total shock on her face. “Oh my God, no way!” she exclaims. “And she eats real food and, like, everything already!?”