Fetish

As I was dropping seventy-five dollars on hair care and make-up products at Walgreens (Yes, seventy-five dollars), I ran into Restaurant Girl. She’s quitting her jobs and was jovial and friendly. I’m invariably shocked when she’s cordial. I always look around and wonder, are you talking to me? Are you serious? Don’t you remember that you’re always rude to me? I think she forgets and I wonder if at some point mid-way through the conversation she remembers who I am and thinks to herself, damn.

So anyway, I’m being nice back, simply because I’m stunned by her pleasantry and I tell her that Cassie has recently returned. Oh yeah, she says, from Spain! Wow. And she asks after her, how was her trip and how is she? I tell her that Cassie looks beautiful and healthy and that it was my impression that the experience was great for her. Restaurant Girl breathes in acutely, gasps almost, and takes a step back, overwhelmed for a moment, “she really couldn’t be more beautiful.” Her eyes get wide as she ponders the mere thought of it and I think she’s going to fall right there in the checkout line at the make-up counter.

At that point all I really want to do is take my little plastic Walgreens basket and slam it upside her head. I think to myself, she’s given you her phone number how many times, encouraged you to call her and all but tattooed the word AVAILABLE on her forehead… you dizzy bitch! Well now she’s beautiful, radiant and glowing, I tell her – hoping it tortures her mercilessly. She’s dumb struck and nervous and just says, “wow.”

Restaurant Girl pays for her manies and I’m next in line. “Doing some make-up shopping!” The shop lady proclaims as she peers into the blue plastic basket with eyes wide, then gives me a sideways glance of disapproval. She pulls out a number of little sparkly eyeshade products and says, “these are marketed for teenage girls,” with a matter-of-fact condemning tone of utter disappointment. “Well I am,” I say casually, “a teenage girl,” and leave it at that. She steps back and looks at me and shakes her head. “For the girls who won’t wear Revlon,” she whispers under her breath. I’ve just committed a crime against humanity.

As a matter-of-fact, I was reading Mademoiselle magazine last night, after the shopping extravaganza, which is clearly not marketed to teenage girls, and these Fetish products which I purchased were indeed featured in that magazine. Now I don’t say I was reading Mademoiselle with pride, nor can I attest to actually enjoying the magazine. The featured fashions are atrocious and over-priced, the articles are all about planning a wedding, getting your man to marry you, dealing with the fact your best friend is getting married when you’re not, meeting your to-be in-laws for the first time or losing weight. The magazine was a freebee that arrives periodically despite myself and I do scan through the pages with self-righteous indignation and mock the articles and advertisements. I’m happy to admit that I do in fact enjoy some of these pulpy trashy periodicals – I’ll get titillated and giddy when I buy a Cosmo for the airplane for the Jerry Springer-like reader’s writes. Think on that as you will. But I’m simply not part of Mademoiselle’s market audience. But, Ms. Walgreen’s Shop Lady, I can be a teenage girl as long as I want to. How do you like them apples?