I was in Steinmart the other day, apparently just to remind myself why I don't go to Steinmart. Lots of rhinestone and fur embellishments in there. I didn't buy anything. I don't need to look like a leather-clad bear with a disco ball for an ass.
While I walked around, I heard an angry voice. It kept buzzing around me like a mosquito. Finally, I focused in on the source.
It was a very skinny, well-to-do, Botoxed, 50-something, bleach-blonde (they tend to travel in packs in a certain Denver-area southern suburb that I need not mention). This one had broken away from the pack, but she nattered away on her phone to someone who, I'm sure, felt her pain.
She was wheeling around an expensive baby stroller. There was no baby around. I think she just brought it in so she could pile shoeboxes and fur-fringed leather vests into it.
As she wheeled and piled through the store, this is the part of the conversation I heard.
So I invited her to dinner and she offered to bring wine. I told her that would be great. I thought she'd bring Pino Grigio she likes, because that's what she always does.
Well, she arrives and she brings CHARDONNAY!
What the hell am I supposed to do with that???
I weep for her and for everybody who was forced to sit through that dinner with the wrong white wine.
The horror.
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