SB and I occasionally break our fast at the HV Classified. He likes the muffins, I like the bagels and we both like the coffee. Aside from a few fellow rugby players, we notice that the breakfast crowd there consists of nicely dressed individuals who we don't usually see in our weekend meanderings. I wonder if this is because they socialize in the fancier clubs of LKF where SB and I rarely venture. We would probably never go to LKF if it weren't for our Cornell friends' invitations.
During breakfast a couple of women sat at the table adjacent to ours and began a somewhat exuberant conversation about a man who one of the ladies was interested in. From the snippets that I heard, she was complaining to her friend about him showing his true colors or something to that effect, I gathered as a result of drinking heavily during a party the night before. The conversation caused me to reflect on when I used to be single; the women next to me were not different from my girlfriends and me. I remember meeting up for brunch after a memorable evening and having similar discussions. During the summer of 2004 I was immersed in a humorous soap opera involving a French rugby player, a 21 year old wrestler and my former university crush who had suddenly developed an interest in me though he had never looked twice at me during university. During those days it seemed that dating conditions only occurred in flood or famine; there were either no single men to be found or they were coming out of the woodwork.
In the single girl days I wore summer dresses to brunch much like I do now, only then I would have accessorized with a purse and earrings while now I simply throw on the dress and follow my starving partner out the door. The girls sitting next to us were of an entirely different league of women from my friends and me. They were dressed in clinging, cotton dresses that I would only have worn in the evening, with full makeup and jewelry. I was impressed.
I couldn't stop glancing over at the woman sitting across the table; she was flawless. I have always viewed such women with a mixture of awe and curiosity. I know plenty of women, my mother included, who would never leave home without battle paint. I wonder if they are happy with their naked faces when they wake up in the morning. Is the makeup viewed as enhancement or a concealment?
The woman across from me was groomed from her perfectly sculpted and lined brows to her exceptionally even, soft and glowing complexion. I am a reasonably talented artist and can build architectural models with surgical precision (I even use surgical forceps to place tiny mullions) but I would be unable to replicate her facial mastery. I wondered if the effort was for herself or for her quarry and if it was successful.
SB had finished his coffee and was ready for the day to begin so I was forced to halt my amateur anthropology and follow him out but I'm still wondering.
During breakfast a couple of women sat at the table adjacent to ours and began a somewhat exuberant conversation about a man who one of the ladies was interested in. From the snippets that I heard, she was complaining to her friend about him showing his true colors or something to that effect, I gathered as a result of drinking heavily during a party the night before. The conversation caused me to reflect on when I used to be single; the women next to me were not different from my girlfriends and me. I remember meeting up for brunch after a memorable evening and having similar discussions. During the summer of 2004 I was immersed in a humorous soap opera involving a French rugby player, a 21 year old wrestler and my former university crush who had suddenly developed an interest in me though he had never looked twice at me during university. During those days it seemed that dating conditions only occurred in flood or famine; there were either no single men to be found or they were coming out of the woodwork.
In the single girl days I wore summer dresses to brunch much like I do now, only then I would have accessorized with a purse and earrings while now I simply throw on the dress and follow my starving partner out the door. The girls sitting next to us were of an entirely different league of women from my friends and me. They were dressed in clinging, cotton dresses that I would only have worn in the evening, with full makeup and jewelry. I was impressed.
I couldn't stop glancing over at the woman sitting across the table; she was flawless. I have always viewed such women with a mixture of awe and curiosity. I know plenty of women, my mother included, who would never leave home without battle paint. I wonder if they are happy with their naked faces when they wake up in the morning. Is the makeup viewed as enhancement or a concealment?
The woman across from me was groomed from her perfectly sculpted and lined brows to her exceptionally even, soft and glowing complexion. I am a reasonably talented artist and can build architectural models with surgical precision (I even use surgical forceps to place tiny mullions) but I would be unable to replicate her facial mastery. I wondered if the effort was for herself or for her quarry and if it was successful.
SB had finished his coffee and was ready for the day to begin so I was forced to halt my amateur anthropology and follow him out but I'm still wondering.
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