A great friend and I sneaked out for sushi just recently and as we were escorted to our table the din from a large party was almost enough to scare us off. Fifteen frolicking females were celebrating a birthday around a large square table, with verve. We tried to decide whether it was a 25 year old birthday, or thirty. (She said 30, I said 25) Lots of noise, hugs, a good amount of “big hair”, no shortage of make up, poses and pictures, and 100% tight pants.(I’m sticking with 25)
We couldn’t decide if they were from Billerica, if they were bad-ass enough to be from Dracut or, maybe from over the border. Definitely not Chelmsford. Definitely not Lowell.
All in all, they were ok–they were having fun, with minimal shreeking. On the “cool” meter, we were leaning ever so slightly towards giving them the the benefit of the doubt (except for Dolly) until… “Separate checks.”
I don’t care where you are from, who you know, how much money you make and whether or not that poof of Dolly-like blonde- curly-riot sitting way atop your brightly painted melon is real or synthetic, “Separate checks?” Pump the brakes.
So not cool.
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