OVERHEARD : Two women speak ill of a bride.
I eavesdropped on this convo as we ate French fries at a local food place. Two silver-haired ladies in their early 70s.
I'm going to call them Beatrice and Thelma.
“Her arms are just covered with tattoos!”
Beatrice said to her Thelma; both nursing some type of coffee beverage at the tiny two-person table wobbling with every elbow lean.
“She's spent who knows how much money getting these things, and you know what she said?! You know what she wants to do now?”
Thelma sighed and shook her head; their private conversation aggressively public to those of us getting intently interested in their unquietly-whispered monologic conversation a table away.
I gently shushed our children from talking so I could hear, just in case there was something Homeland Security might need to know.
Beatrice continued:
“She's looking at wedding dresses and she says she wants one with long lace sleeves to COVER HER ARMS. So, she's spent all this money getting these things that look awful on her arms, and now it's her wedding and she wants to COVER HER ARMS UP. And who knows how much she's spending on the dress!”
Thelma continued shaking her head, pausing only to sip gingerly and finally slip in a question:
“What's she going to call you?”
Beatrice snorted gracefully.
“Well, she'll be my daughter-in-law, so I suppose she'll call me...Beatrice.”
At this point, my confidence increased that Beatrice and Thelma were likely a low threat to national security, so I gathered the children and leftover food, and we left, and I forgot to inquire about receiving a wedding invitation. That would be a fun one to attend.
