Spring Trends

Two friends meet and discuss recent news in the business world.

Friend One: Have you been shopping for the new spring fashions?

Friend Two: I have looked. They’re all hideous versions of the unflattering styles designers tried to foist upon us this past winter.

Friend One: Handkerchief hems were bad enough. They make everybody’s thighs look like basketballs the way the fabric bounces around with every step.

Friend Two: Now we have that high-low look with the shorter hem in the front and the longer hem in the back. No woman looks good in them unless she is over six feet tall.

Friend One: Every other woman looks like a mutant Munchkin or a leprechaun whose growth hormone injections failed halfway through treatment.

Friend Two: The designs are all boxy and military inspired with large buttons, useless zippers and epaulets.

Friend One: Who designed them- Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un?

Friend Two: Yes. It’s a new line: Gulag Fashions.

Friend One: Well, what else should one expect from someone who is friends with Dennis Rodman? I believe the line from Men in Black is right- he is from another planet.

Friend Two: The winter hues of mud puddle brown, slush gray, and baby diarrhea mustard yellow were bad enough.

Friend One: Now we are supposed to don harvest gold and aqua plaid. We’ll all look like a 1950’s kitchen.

Friend Two: And the patterns- giant versions of 1960’s sea shell wallpaper and hippie flower child psychedelic flowers.

Friend One: I have fond memories of those days. Not the clothing, just the free love.

Friend Two: Speaking of free love, have things settled down yet over at Mama Network?

Friend One: Pretty much. I can say it was a successful test of the new instant shade windows that were installed in the cafeteria during the building remodel.

Friend Two: The ones that turn instantly from regular glass to any degree of shade with a remote signal?

Friend One: Yup. Apparently Khorkina and the Little Man didn’t realize they were operational. And one must stay current with the latest technological innovations, especially when having a wee hours intimate liaison between the vending machines.

Friend Two: What was she doing there so late, anyhow?

Friend One: You know Mama insists all the wannabe models she signs with Mama Agency serve an internship at the network, so they can learn about the print and runway industry from behind the camera, not just in front of it. Khorkina was just watching some video and stills during less frenetic hours.

Friend Two: So the Little Man convinced her that nobody would ever find out about a quickie, especially if they hid in the cafeteria? He must have been very persuasive despite their differences. After all, he is barely five feet tall. She is 6’5”.  She is 22 and he is 56 and married. 

Friend One: Apparently he didn’t think there were operational cameras in the cafeteria at night or the ones in the parking lot could scan and zone in focus directly on the building.

Friend Two: She may be young but she isn’t that naïve. I heard his wife was in charge of security on her latest photo shoot. They must have consulted about logistics. Hasn’t he been suspected of philandering before?

Friend One: I’m sure they had some girl talk sessions about Little Man’s assets and skills.  Since he is so short, all he did at first was flip her high-low hem over his head. Then as business progressed, he spun her around against the window, climbed up on a cafeteria chair and, well, those useless zippers and buttons didn’t seem to be so useless after all.

Friend Two: So what about the windows? What really happened?

Friend One: I guess he didn’t know the Missus was overseeing Security Central for a few hours since her promotion. With one click, the darkened windows cleared and the audio/video feed pre-empted all the ads and propaganda on the Jumbotrons in Times Square, Hong Kong, Toronto, Sydney, and Beijing. Referees even called an official Time Out at the World Cup game in Rio.

Friend Two: And now?

Friend One: Khorkina is thrilled. Her career has taken off. She has worldwide Fortune 100 Company modeling requests that will keep her booked daily for the next three years at least. And Mama Agency gets a healthy percentage of her newly inflated fees. Plus a commission on the YouTube ad traffic. There were 12 million hits in the first 24 hours alone.  

Friend Two: How about the Little Man?

Friend One: Well, the farm in the Nevada desert could use some help. Apparently Ex Mr. Dog Food is actually showing some beginning signs of a work ethic (http://barb-says.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-xx-business-factor.html).

Friend Two: OOH Rah!

Let’s all Tweet like the birdies do…

A woman “of a certain age” is enjoying a solo meal while working on her tablet. Suddenly a large cowboy hat sails onto her table, sending her organized paperwork flying. Before she can react a booming voice assaults her:

Man with Cowboy Hat: Louise!

Woman: Certainly not. Please remove that odious head gear from my table and depart before I call security.

MWCH: Restaurants don’t have security guards. Sacha? Babette? Shawneequa? I know you.

Woman: You must not have dined recently in the Middle East. Or parts of New Jersey. I assure you we have never met. I would remember a gentleman so devoid of common sense and manners. I am busy and don’t want to talk to you.

MWCH: Caroline? Montana? Veronica? I am so bad with names.

Woman: Among other skills. And now I must re-order my tea since you managed to spill the dregs. Go away.

MWCH: My apologies. I was overtaken and I behaved badly. Susan? Lulu? Gabalina?

Woman: That is the only true thing you’ve said, the bad behavior part. Now take your inadequately phrased apology and leave. No- don’t sit down. I don’t want to speak another word to you.

MWCH: Then don’t. I’ll talk. Your name will come to me in a minute and then everything will fall into place. I think better while sitting. Lara? Q’iana? Angel?

Woman: This is most certainly the worst pick- up attempt in history. Men your age troll the Blonde Bimbo set.

MWCH: They don’t frequent fine dining establishments and drink Tea with Honey. Blonde Bimbo Babes hold no interest for me. I just want to remember the name of the beautiful woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. Mellisande? Orly? Tatiana?

Woman:  No, No, and NO. Also not Monique, T’Pring, or Honeysuckle. 20 Questions is over. I wish you luck in your search. Goodbye.

MWCH: Those were my next guesses. Now I’ll need another minute to think. Um…

Woman: I suspect the process will take much longer.

MWCH: I’ve got it- Khorkina? Nubia? Gert?

Woman: (Gathering paperwork and stowing it into carryall): Since you won’t leave or stop talking, I’ll excuse myself. When I return to settle my check, I expect it to be to a companionless table. (She heads to Ladies Room.)

A few minutes later:

Woman: You’re still here. Did you attend special classes in school? Your mental processing speed is obviously diminished. You know, early intervention is Best Practice, but therapy at any age can yield positive outcomes.

MWCH:  Did it work?  And, no, I was homeschooled. Maeve? Gabrielle? Carlotta?

Woman: Well, at least that avoids an additional black mark on the public education tally sheet. And yes, all the facilities in the Ladies Room function adequately in case you’re keeping tabs.

MWCH: No, not the toilet or sink. I was referring to the facial recognition software you ran my photo through. The one you tried to take without my knowledge. Rose? Sable? Margaret?

Woman:  I may have to re-evaluate my initial impression of you. You’re the only man who, well, never mind. You are certainly persistent and talkative, two qualities I had hoped to avoid in other humans this afternoon.

MWCH: It won’t work, you know- the software. I’m off the grid. Bambi? Grace? Magdaline?

Woman: You have no cyber presence. No hits whatsoever.

MWVH: Not everybody leaves a footprint or breadcrumb trail. Josepha? Princess?  Delilah?

Woman: Those few people are extremely wealthy or connected in ways I don’t want to think about.

MWCH: Since you believe I’m one of them, maybe you’re one of them, too. Sheba? Jezebel? Dinah?

Woman: Perhaps you really have no identity, like Will Smith in Men in Black. His was erased and he became a letter: J. Then there is Get Smart’s Agent 99.   Or Secret Agent Man- “We’re giving you a number and taking away your name.”  I’ll just call you Zero. It perfectly fits the amount of time I want to spend with you.

MWCH: So harsh from my future bride. I’ll work to hone my PR skills. And if you really don’t want to talk, we can go to a movie. That will guarantee at least 112 minutes of my silence. And time for my inadequate brain processes to catch up.  Megan? Charlotte? Nancy?

Woman: I’ll accept but only for the anticipated peace and quiet. The theater is just across the way. But before we leave, you must sign this disclaimer. Standard social interaction procedure I’ve had to resort to, which I am sure you will respect.

MWCH: I happily accept your terms and agreement. Debbie? Pocahontas? Eve? (He scribbles on paper) Here- take my card in case we become separated in the crowd.

Woman: It’s 3 PM. There will be seven people in line for 13 movies. Plus, that hat could be seen from the International Space Station. Fret not. You signed this disclaimer with the numeral zero. And whose business card has only a zip code?

MWCH: NASA assured me my hat was footprint proof, plus you’re the one who assigned me the name. That’s the best I can do considering my educational deficits. The zip code is also my Twitter handle.  Portia? AaEva? Violet?

Woman: How many Twitter followers do you have? I can’t believe you have a plethora of fans hanging on your every tweet.

MWCH: It’s very private- you’re the only follower. Bella? Cleopatra? Elaine?

Two and a half hours later:

Woman: Well, thank you for keeping your promise of 112 minutes of silence. You even exceeded the goal by 14%. A man who keeps his word is a rare commodity.

MWCH: You have no idea. I took a nap, ergo the silence. Maxine? Noel? April? May I take you to dinner?

Woman: I cannot tonight meet the anticipated conversation mandates. I really need a few hours of quiet work time. Some people do work, you realize, not just spend afternoons pursuing their social life.

MWCH: Understood. You know how to contact me. Anytime. (He tips cowboy hat and strolls off into the evening.)

3 AM:

MWCH receives Tweet: “Zero- I’m hungry.”

3:02 AM:

Woman receives Tweet: “Ride is outside. Pack toothbrush. Mary? Olivia? Aurora?”

A Little Something about Nothing

Two friends meet for no particular reason.

Friend One: So how are you today?

Friend Two: OK.

Friend One: That’s it? Just OK? Usually you are bursting with tantalizing gossip and exciting information.

Friend Two: There’s nothing to say today.

Friend One: There’s always something to say. Are you feeling ill?

Friend Two: No.

Friend One: Sad?

Friend Two: No.

Friend One: Depressed?

Friend Two: No.

Friend One: Angry?

Friend Two: No.

Friend One: Frustrated?

Friend Two: No.

Friend One: Introspective?

Friend Two: Not particularly.

Friend One: Happy?

Friend Two: Not really.

Friend One: Tired?

Friend Two: No. Got a good night’s sleep.

Friend One: Excited?

Friend Two: Nothing exciting happening.

Friend One: Satisfied?

Friend Two: I guess. Nothing unsatisfactory to jar my neutrality.

Friend One: So today you are just coasting along using up oxygen.

Friend Two: That’s about it. But so are you. Using up more oxygen with all your questions.

Friend One: But I am generating energy. And CO2 for plants to use to make more oxygen.

Friend Two: And I’m not.

Friend One: Not what?

Friend Two: Productively perpetuating planetary permanence.

Friend One: But you are.

Friend Two: How?

Friend One: You’re stabilizing the ebb and flow of mood extremes.

Friend Two: Yep. I sure am.

Friend One: See- that’s actively using energy to de-energize other forces. Entropy and photosynthesis are in balance.

Friend Two: Really, now, that’s pushing the limits of something that must be related to quantum theory. It makes no sense.

Friend One: Yep.

Friend Two: And we’re getting too philosophical.

Friend One: Yep.

Friend Two: So can we drop it?

Friend One: Yep.

Friend Two: Photosynthesis? You haven’t spoken that word since 9^th grade, I’m sure.

Friend One: Yep.

Friend Two: So are you ready for a green beverage? Here come those Irish brothers, right on time. In kilts!

I feel a spurt of loquaciousness and energy returning. 

Friend One: Yep. Inspiration is the key.

Friend Two: Drink up, all. Celebrate all things Irish. Happy St Paddy’s Day!

Friend One: Yep!