Overhearing the conversations of others is pretty common in our society today. No matter how hard we try to pretend otherwise in a crowded setting, our brains tend to fixate on the various excitement going on around us. It's unintentional in most cases, but eavesdropping happens.
My old office, in the early 90s, used to be one big, open room. We did not have dividers between desks while we spoke on the phone or typed out psychological reports. The internet didn't exist as it does today, so secret online shopping while at work was unheard of.
I had stepped out of the BIG ROOM for a moment to make some copies one afternoon. When I came back, one of my coworkers was on the phone. Of course I heard every word--her desk was less than ten feet away! I pretended that I wasn't listening, to be polite. I even got out some test manuals and flipped through some pages. (One was upside down, and I did not even notice. This is why I am not an actor)
"Yes, I'd like to order a bikini," Paulette said. I immediately became jealous that she was a)able to wear a bikini, and b)going someplace where she could wear a bikini. It was cold outside!
"#1234567."
"Size 10."
"Blue."
"Two-day delivery."
That's about the end of the conversation, I thought, opening a folder and pretending to read an IEP. All the salesperson needed to do was ask if there was anything else. The call would be ended, and silence would prevail once more. I waited.
"Yeah. Can I get some breasts and thighs to go with that, please?"
I admit that I turned and stared at Paulette, too surprised to pretend any longer. She was smiling at me, not fooled for one second. Apparently the salesperson on the other line was shocked as well; it took her a moment to respond in the negative.
"Oh well, it was worth a try. You have a good day."
Paulette hung up the phone and we had a good laugh about it. Then I made her tell me all about her upcoming trip. We did not get any work done for the rest of the day, and that was just fine with us.
What funny things have you overheard?
Showing posts with label bikinis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bikinis. Show all posts
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Friday, May 6, 2011
Jealous
Note:Aaah...jealousy. We all have it. We all feel it.
And now we'd like you to write about it. We'll leave it open: you can write about something or someone you envy, or a time when your jealousy got you in trouble, or maybe how it makes you feel to be envious. Whatever you want.
And it can be fiction or non-fiction. This is Fiction! Although I probably am the Neighborhood Crazy Lady. Word limit is 600.
As I stood out in my front yard, watering my roses, there they were. It was my next door neighbor's daughter, home from college, and a friend of hers. Two young, lithe bodies sunning themselves on the front lawn of my neighbor's house, where everybody and God could see them. Of course I stared. That's what they wanted, I realized. Why else would they have been out in the front yard, instead of in the backyard with the privacy fence? I stared.
Those long legs, smooth and evenly tanned.
Glutes that were almost granite.
Breasts, perched upright and proud way above tiny waistlines.
Flat, washboard abdomens.
Svelte hips.
Blistering white smiles and full, pouty lips.
Long hair radiating gold in the sunlight.
All that beautiful, luscious, ripe youth, stuffed into tiny bikinis that left nothing at all to the imagination.
Who wouldn't stare? They were wearing the kind of tiny scraps of cloth that I used to wear when I was their age. When my body looked like that. Only better, because I had the benefit of hindsight.
The two not-yet-women-but-no-longer-girls finally noticed me, the Crazy Neighbor Lady, standing next to my pink roses in my front yard, staring at them. They leaned toward one another, and one girl put her hand over her mouth to hide what she was saying. They giggled at the old neighbor lady staring at them while she watered her flowers. I turned away from them and moved toward my yellow roses.
I thought about my varicose veins, which make my legs look like a map of the interstates.
The thighs so covered in cellulite they looked hail damaged.
The breasts stretched oblong from breastfeeding and age.
The hips misaligned from carrying children on one hip.
The arms that jiggle so much they are recorded as seismic activity.
The dull, lifeless hair.
The double chin. The jowls. The feeling that my face is slowly sliding down into my cleavage from the gravity of my years.
A feeling came over me. An urge to run over to my neighbor's front yard and grab those two girls by the hair and pull every last strand out. To throw them out of those lawn chairs and into the hot street where the asphalt had the same temperature as the sun. The urge to claw that smooth, flawless skin to ribbons. My stomach clenched, and I could almost feel my fingers piercing soft flesh.
What was the word I was looking for? Then it hit me. Jealous. That was the word I was looking for. I was jealous of those two girls because they were young and beautiful. I am not either of those things, not anymore.
But I do have a petty side to my personality.
I turned and squirted both girls with the hose.
And now we'd like you to write about it. We'll leave it open: you can write about something or someone you envy, or a time when your jealousy got you in trouble, or maybe how it makes you feel to be envious. Whatever you want.
And it can be fiction or non-fiction. This is Fiction! Although I probably am the Neighborhood Crazy Lady. Word limit is 600.
As I stood out in my front yard, watering my roses, there they were. It was my next door neighbor's daughter, home from college, and a friend of hers. Two young, lithe bodies sunning themselves on the front lawn of my neighbor's house, where everybody and God could see them. Of course I stared. That's what they wanted, I realized. Why else would they have been out in the front yard, instead of in the backyard with the privacy fence? I stared.
Those long legs, smooth and evenly tanned.
Glutes that were almost granite.
Breasts, perched upright and proud way above tiny waistlines.
Flat, washboard abdomens.
Svelte hips.
Blistering white smiles and full, pouty lips.
Long hair radiating gold in the sunlight.
All that beautiful, luscious, ripe youth, stuffed into tiny bikinis that left nothing at all to the imagination.
Who wouldn't stare? They were wearing the kind of tiny scraps of cloth that I used to wear when I was their age. When my body looked like that. Only better, because I had the benefit of hindsight.
The two not-yet-women-but-no-longer-girls finally noticed me, the Crazy Neighbor Lady, standing next to my pink roses in my front yard, staring at them. They leaned toward one another, and one girl put her hand over her mouth to hide what she was saying. They giggled at the old neighbor lady staring at them while she watered her flowers. I turned away from them and moved toward my yellow roses.
I thought about my varicose veins, which make my legs look like a map of the interstates.
The thighs so covered in cellulite they looked hail damaged.
The breasts stretched oblong from breastfeeding and age.
The hips misaligned from carrying children on one hip.
The arms that jiggle so much they are recorded as seismic activity.
The dull, lifeless hair.
The double chin. The jowls. The feeling that my face is slowly sliding down into my cleavage from the gravity of my years.
A feeling came over me. An urge to run over to my neighbor's front yard and grab those two girls by the hair and pull every last strand out. To throw them out of those lawn chairs and into the hot street where the asphalt had the same temperature as the sun. The urge to claw that smooth, flawless skin to ribbons. My stomach clenched, and I could almost feel my fingers piercing soft flesh.
What was the word I was looking for? Then it hit me. Jealous. That was the word I was looking for. I was jealous of those two girls because they were young and beautiful. I am not either of those things, not anymore.
But I do have a petty side to my personality.
I turned and squirted both girls with the hose.
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