To the Girls in Panera

Dear College Beauty Queens,

I can hear every word you say. I'm here, minding my own business, trying to get work done. And while I have accomplished a lot this afternoon, I must take a break now to tell you some things.

I don't care about your sex life. Really, no one else in this restaurant does. So if you could lower your voice a little, that would be great.

I also don't care about your new haircut, your problems with your boyfriends, or your most embarrassing moment. Seriously. I stopped reading Seventeen over a decade ago.

It's true that you're cute, skinny, and well dressed. Congratulations. If I had lots of money and time on my hands, I might look pretty fabulous, too. But let me tell you now, that without drastic measures, your looks will not last. After your metabolism slows down, your "freshman fifteen" catches up with you, and you deal with disappointments, a sedentary lifestyle, and pregnancies, your cute little backsides will enlarge. Even if you remain disciplined and go to the gym everyday, leaving your children with the nanny, some things are inevitable. I guess you'd better find a plastic surgeon that you like now.

And speaking of pregnancies and children, if you aren't supposed to tell anybody about Justin getting "that slut" pregnant, then why are you? I realize that someone ending up with a new life growing inside of them is a novelty and feels light-years away for you, but it isn't for everybody. I don't want to hear all the juicy details about someone getting to see a little fragile heartbeat because of an accident that they can't wait to move on from. While I agree that
she shouldn't be drinking caffeine and alcohol and she should be taking better care of herself, I don't think I'm bothered for the same reasons you are. I know you don't understand why this hurts me. I know it's just a weird thing that's interesting to talk about. I just wish you didn't talk so loudly.

And for all that I find you annoying, I have to say that I hope you don't ever understand. I hope that you will never have first hand knowledge of the sting that accompanies life after losing a child. But it would be nice if you understood what other people are going through because you're aware that they exist. And if I hear the movie Juno quoted one more time, I will scream. Right here in the middle of Panera.

It "ain't no etch-a-sketch," it's true. But just because you can't undo it (at least, not without a doctor's help and a lifetime of guilt), doesn't mean it isn't sometimes undone. As though it never happened, leaving just an empty space behind.

My tirade is done now, and I'll put in some headphones or something and get back to work. I just wanted to let you know. I wish someone had told me when I was 20. Because I'm sure I annoyed many an innocent restaurant patron with my drama, too.

Have fun in the Bahamas. I hear it's nice there. And I agree--you probably do look best in the black shorts. Happy first day of summer, girls.

Love,
The woman by the window with the laptop.

This post was brought to you by the letters C and O for "cranky" and "old"...
and the number 30.