La Poulette

Tastes like chicken.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

On second thought: the green eyed monster, c'est moi.

I knew she'd get on my nerves the minute I sat myself down across from her on the Brussels-Paris Thalys. She was a thin, delicate creature (big annoyance factor - nothing a voluptuous woman hates more than a flat, skinny one). Pretty enough, sure, but her body language made it apparent that she considered herself nothing short of beautiful - major annoyance factor. A Le Monde lay spread out on the table in front of her unread, while she was busy talking with a middle age man seated to her right. She was a lawyer linguist, she told him, as I made myself comfortable on the other seat. But she has two masters degrees, one in political science and the other in general culture, she hurried on as the seeds of hate that had just been planted in my head slowly began to flourish. Yes, she's only twentyfive (a modest, rueful smile spreads across her face), but she's already planned her career: she's given herself five years time to study for the bar exam, which means she can pass it by the age of 30. And the message between the lines flashes: I'm gorgeous AND intelligent AND ambitious. I'm gorgeous AND intelligent AND ambitious. Oh the little bitch had it all figured out, while I sat watching, reminded of the fact that it had only just recently occurred to me that a career is perhaps something I should be working on. The man kept coming up with new questions - such a young piece of ass and so eager to talk to him! - and she was more than happy to oblige him: a star pupil confidently counting off the multiplication tables. She listened to his questions intently, lips thoughtfully pursed, head slowly nodding in understanding and then promptly fired off the replies, her face the epitome of righteousness, her eyebrows jumping in animation, her fingers twirling the delicate gold necklace at her throat. When the conversation finally waned, she reluctantly turned back to her newspaper, lips still thoughtfully pursed as she read, the expression on her face changing subtly in order to convey the emotional impact of each news item (disapproving shock via furrowed brow at news of Katrina; an indulgent smile of amusement coupled with disbelieving head shaking at the latest Bushism; mild surprise by way of raised eyeborws a the current stock market figures) - the picture of a girl forever aware that a possibility of a film camera following her every move isn't that far-fetched.
Oh what I wouldn't have given to give that pink cheek of hers a firm, resounding slap that would wipe that self-righteous smirk right off her face. How I would have loved to magically produce a situation that would stir her self-confidence just a little, that would make her perfect self-contained little world just a tad less so. But then she closed her newspaper, fished her handbag from under the seat and stood up. A position that gave me a nice full view of her ill-fitting cheap polyester pant-suit. And then came the piece de resistance, the icing on the cake: she turned around and I was greeted by the sight of a disproportionately large derriere. Not the type that reaches out back, 3D style. No, the type that remains flat but expands out to the sides only to produce extra large hip issues. The worst kind. Especially on an otherwise skinny, breastfree frame. My hate suddenly dissolved in a wave of satisfaction and relief. Well, you know, what can you do - the poor girl.


  • At 9/06/2005 12:23:00 PM, Blogger ill-advised said…

    Excellent post! Boy do I ever hate ambitious people. If it wasn't for them, everyone would be able to wallow contentedly in comfortable mediocrity. But then I always remember that it isn't really entirely their fault that they are ambitious; it's the problem of the whole configuration of our society, which doesn't enable people to achieve a decent standard of life without participating in some kind of rat race.

    Anyway, it's always pleasant to see that nobody is quite perfect.

  • At 9/06/2005 07:10:00 PM, Anonymous rainbow warrior said…

    Bitch bitch, nag nag - babe, you're wasting waaay too much emotional energy on people like these. Pity them, I say. Seems like you're spending a wee bit too much time with La Baguette. As for your career - fear not, you already work for the EU, which could hardly be said for that chick. And even if she gets her bar exam, she'll have to work like 14 hours/day for ages to even come close to your paycheck, so chill.


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