Cleanliness and Irony.
1/1.
The four ladies always have lunch on the second Saturday of the month. They meet in an elegant downtown restaurant, dolled up in their best pastel outfits and matching hats. Although they order only light food (they're all on different diets), they somehow manage to drag out their meetings for three hours, drinking cup after cup of coffee and tea, chattering away like a nest of birds that some prankster has sneaked inside. Their conversations border on the repetitive; the status of their marriages, the recent success or failure of their children, which Hollywood starlet is sleeping with whom. However, on the second Saturday in May, the chit-chat turns to the subject of the ladies' pet peeves, which range from the understandable (people whistling in line at the grocery store) to the ridiculous (the color peach).
"You know what I hate?" The woman who puts this sentence forward is named Eleanor, a name that she despises. Eleanor is sitting with her back towards the window and the women lean forward, both to hear what she is about to say and to stare at the twentysomething tanned god who is walking by.
"What's that?" Elizabeth, Lydia and Gloria answer in chorus.
"When people don't wash their hands regularly! Why, I was in the grocery store yesterday and the young lady who was waiting on me sneezed and then just kept swiping my vegetables through, without even using hand sanitizer!" Elizabeth, Lydia and Gloria all give the correct responses, knowing just how much shock to put into their voices. After twenty years, they've fine-tuned these lunches into a perfectly oiled machine. Before they call for the bill, Lydia rises and retreats for what she calls a powder break. As she leaves, the girls fall into a rush of whispering about everything they couldn't say to her face, wondering if Lydia has gained weight or if she's been drinking again.
While they whisper, Lydia does her business and examines her hair in the mirror, adjusting a blond-dyed curl and frowning at a stubborn grey hair that won't go away. When she walks back into the dining room, the girls seamlessly move into their next area of conversation, ending their lunch with air kisses and hugs.
Not one mentions the fact that Lydia still has a speck of salad dressing on her dry hands.
"You know what I hate?" The woman who puts this sentence forward is named Eleanor, a name that she despises. Eleanor is sitting with her back towards the window and the women lean forward, both to hear what she is about to say and to stare at the twentysomething tanned god who is walking by.
"What's that?" Elizabeth, Lydia and Gloria answer in chorus.
"When people don't wash their hands regularly! Why, I was in the grocery store yesterday and the young lady who was waiting on me sneezed and then just kept swiping my vegetables through, without even using hand sanitizer!" Elizabeth, Lydia and Gloria all give the correct responses, knowing just how much shock to put into their voices. After twenty years, they've fine-tuned these lunches into a perfectly oiled machine. Before they call for the bill, Lydia rises and retreats for what she calls a powder break. As she leaves, the girls fall into a rush of whispering about everything they couldn't say to her face, wondering if Lydia has gained weight or if she's been drinking again.
While they whisper, Lydia does her business and examines her hair in the mirror, adjusting a blond-dyed curl and frowning at a stubborn grey hair that won't go away. When she walks back into the dining room, the girls seamlessly move into their next area of conversation, ending their lunch with air kisses and hugs.
Not one mentions the fact that Lydia still has a speck of salad dressing on her dry hands.
♠ ♠ ♠
Yes, this is pointless. But I've had the idea for a few months now. The sheer irony / hypocrisy amuses me.xo.