They’re not high class but something about the way they wear floral skirts and white capris and square-cut diamond pendants hints at husbands with important suit and tie kind of jobs.
They gesticulate with splayed fingers circling around the point and discuss serious issues with dead eyes and grown up valley girl voices. That’s as close as they’ll get to truly feeling, their watered down words.
They nod passively as if something is interesting, sipping cosmopolitans. They stand, say things like “Thank you ladies,” and “Please stay in touch,” collecting phones and sunglasses and purses, spouting off their hopelessly busy schedules, hoping with everything in them that busy equals important.
Going home to their washing machines and getting drunk on the spin cycle of youth.
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