No Rest for the Insipid

I believe that there are certain women put on this earth whose sole purpose is to remind me of all the things that I will never be. I will never be the girl who finishes a workout routine and looks fresh faced and sweat free. I will never be referred to as "the hot one." I will never wear five hundred dollar shoes with a backless Prada cocktail dress and I most certainly will never shine with that sodium vapor glow that causes men to crane their necks and honk their horns.

Most of the time these women exist outside my world. They live on billboards and between magazine pages. Occasionally they sit next to me at airports or stand behind me in line at the grocery store. During these brief encounters, when I am forced to suffer the discomfort of sharing space with these ethereal creatures, I console myself with the thought that soon they will be back behind glass, delicately pinned to pink velvet where the rest of the world can admire them. Every once in a while though, like this morning, instead of flitting back to their pastel world of lip gloss, shimmer powder and over sized sunglasses, they decide to hover.

So there I was, yoga pants and t-shirt, slightly sweaty and huffing from my morning jaunt, standing in line at Starbucks, eying an old fashioned chocolate donut, and there she was, standing behind me, smelling like peonies and grapefruit and dressed in that chic effortless way that you know really took hours to put together. She had all her pretty girl gear; bronze Makowsky purse, Gucci sunglasses, iPhone with a cotton candy pink silicone cover and the keys to a ridiculously expensive SUV.

After ordering her double shot, non-fat vanilla whatever, she proceeded to sit next to me in the only other open chair. Thank you, Universe. I pulled out my book and ATTEMPTED to read while she prattled on to the poor soul on the other end of the call about her busy week and all the things she had to do and how she had no time for sleep and whatever other OMG-worthy things that had happened to her over the past 72 hours. After 2 and a half minutes of, "and I was all... and she was all..." and "like, are you kidding me, she's my BFF," I had to call it quits before I slit my writsts with a cardboard coffee sleeve.

My point is, maybe I will never be any of those aforementioned things and maybe those kinds of women will always intimidate me on some level, but I will also never be vapid or ridiculous. So...there's that.