More reasons why I am a terrible person.
Her black leggings ended in Ugg boots and her blonde was from a bottle. She had a big ugly dark-pink-trimmed Coach bag on the counter, a set of flashy rings on her left hand and a 3 or 4 year old (beats me; I have no idea how kids age) wandering about while she ordered her iced cappuccino. I had no idea who she was, but her squeaky little voice with its truncated consonants and exaggerated vowels immediately - and granted, more than likely unfairly - categorized her into my Irritating Broad file. She was younger than I.
I'm not exactly sure why I hated her. Could be because every stop sign this morning was met by four or five perfectly-spaced oncoming cars, or because I hit most of the lights between Charlestown and Westerly, or because I was on my way to work on a Wednesday morning, and she was sitting in a coffee shop with a friend similarly-accessorized with child. Could be a new flavor of my inherent misanthropy.
Was I jealous? I don' t think so. My stance on children of my own is well-known (though I have every intention of borrowing nieces and nephews and ruining them a day at a time) and while I did have the realization (earlier today, in fact, before the coffee shop) that I've been single almost ten years now, I value my space and my quiet time alone. I don't believe in appearances or buying brand-name merchandise for the sake of buying the name. My purse is a canvas LL Bean bag because Bean stuff lasts, it was a gift, and it can fit my wallet, keys, sunglasses, a handful of pencils and a couple of paperbacks. My car is a Jeep because Pops&Friends can fix them, and the money I spend on gas I save on mechanics.
Maybe it was some sort of primal jealousy, masquerading as disdain. I did feel old, and huge, in my sensible wool coat with my prescription sunglasses, shoes that are supposed to alleviate my aching hip, and layered clothing for the anticipated chill of the retail office at work. The sour feeling curdled further when I exited to the parking lot and surveyed the vehicles: a commercial plumbing van, my Cherokee with faulty electrics and mud-spattered fenders, and two big, fat, glittering-new luxury SUVs. Of course, I thought, getting into my truck and heading toward work. Of course.
Could have been worse. Imagine how irritated I would have been if this had happened at Starbucks and not Honeydew.
I'm not exactly sure why I hated her. Could be because every stop sign this morning was met by four or five perfectly-spaced oncoming cars, or because I hit most of the lights between Charlestown and Westerly, or because I was on my way to work on a Wednesday morning, and she was sitting in a coffee shop with a friend similarly-accessorized with child. Could be a new flavor of my inherent misanthropy.
Was I jealous? I don' t think so. My stance on children of my own is well-known (though I have every intention of borrowing nieces and nephews and ruining them a day at a time) and while I did have the realization (earlier today, in fact, before the coffee shop) that I've been single almost ten years now, I value my space and my quiet time alone. I don't believe in appearances or buying brand-name merchandise for the sake of buying the name. My purse is a canvas LL Bean bag because Bean stuff lasts, it was a gift, and it can fit my wallet, keys, sunglasses, a handful of pencils and a couple of paperbacks. My car is a Jeep because Pops&Friends can fix them, and the money I spend on gas I save on mechanics.
Maybe it was some sort of primal jealousy, masquerading as disdain. I did feel old, and huge, in my sensible wool coat with my prescription sunglasses, shoes that are supposed to alleviate my aching hip, and layered clothing for the anticipated chill of the retail office at work. The sour feeling curdled further when I exited to the parking lot and surveyed the vehicles: a commercial plumbing van, my Cherokee with faulty electrics and mud-spattered fenders, and two big, fat, glittering-new luxury SUVs. Of course, I thought, getting into my truck and heading toward work. Of course.
Could have been worse. Imagine how irritated I would have been if this had happened at Starbucks and not Honeydew.