Overheard today at a child's birthday party (as my faithful readers know, I generally loathe these little affairs--especially when they are populated with nouveau riche nasties with lifelike movements and real eyes that open and close when they move):
Small Lumpen Mother with some frightful skin problems: I really need to lose seven pounds before this wedding.
Soccer Whore 1: What diets are you trying?
Small Lumpen Mother: I've tried the [unintelligible]*.
Soccer Whore 2: I've tried that. It's really effective. I feel faint and headachy all the time, though. Oh my gosh.
Soccer Whore 1: But you've lost weight!
Madame Tussaud's Escapee, made of lifelike wax: So much. You look fantastic. I mean, where else could she lose weight, girls? Her eyebrows? Her little finger? [Witchy laughter.]
Small Lumpen Mother: But I have got to lose these seven pounds. The wedding is at the end of May!
Madame Tussaud's Escapee: You have to try the [unintelligible] diet.
Small Lumpen Mother: Oh, how does it work?
Madame Tussaud's Escapee: My advice? Do not start dieting now. Wait until 9 days before the wedding to start the diet. You will lose the 7 pounds in exactly 9 days. Surefire.
Small Lumpen Mother: But...won't I just gain it back right away after the wedding?
Madame Tussaud's Escapee: Well, yes. You will. But it works!
Me [very silently inside my own mind]: Hey dingleshit! Did you mention that you will only lose the poundage from your brain? [Slappings with shitty, tasteless pizza ensue.]
*I tried to get closer to hear them better and find out about the mysterious diet, but the cloying scent of their perfume and the flinging about of jewel-encrusted fingers seemed dangerous, and drove me back into the crowd of greasy-fingered children. Whereupon I hid, watching them with narrow eyes, and ate a piece of cake.
1 comment:
I'd tap that horse's ass
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