Pants and Glamour
Earlier today in a coffee shop while waiting for my carpool, I sat next to some (clearly university) students who were adding -y or -ie to all their words - as in, "Oh look, I got a texty." "Who's it from?" "Georgie!" "Oh my god, that is so presh." I kind of stared into space for a while so I wouldn't roll my eyes or make inadvertent scornful faces at them.
Then, while walking from the parking garage to the theater, I saw this gorgeous, tall, dark haired teenage girl wearing black high heels and an impeccably tailored copper-sequined minidress. She had a young guy next to her dressed in an all-black suit who was putting his jacket around her shoulders, and I just kind of melted inside.
But when I walked up next to them, the girl said in this really whiney voice "Oh my GAWWWD it's fucking FREEZING out here! Did you just poke me with your butonniere? Hey Jess, he just poked me with his butonniere! We should fucking call Shawna, is she out here? Oh my GAWD, look, your jacket is longer than my dress!" (insert annoying laugh here and comments from other members of the party.)
Is glamour dead? Is class? Sometimes I think so. And there I am, in my polka dot rain boots, kicking my feet slightly to stir up the big crunchy piles of leaves.
In a possibly related note, I think I put my pants on backwards today.