I'm standing in line for the bathroom. The bar is crowded and the line is long. A loud, deep, beat is shaking the scratched stall doors.
The girl behind me sloppily compliments my boots then starts listing off all the reasons why she hates how she looks tonight.
She mentions how all her good clothes got left behind in "the move". I ask where she moved from.
Oregon, she states while waving a hand in my face, The ring looks SO much better on a right hand don't you think?
I try to look at the big diamond that's scraping inches from my nose as she goes on to slur,
I broke up with my fiance and moved back home.
Before I can say anything three other girls wave their hands in the air holding papertowels, suds sliding down their wrists, shrieking Me too! I just broke up with my fiance too! My fiance and I just broke up. Me too!
My friend and I later wondered how many were telling the truth.
I've been prone to choose specific wording while talking to strangers in the past because I like the way I feel reflected back. I like the way the sentences feel coming out of me.
I'll tell a barista: My boyfriend wants his decaf.
When the woman next to me on a bus asks why I'm so tired: The man I'm sleeping with twitches at night.
The person in front of me at the post-office asks what the package is for: I'm sending my ex-husband his favorite tshirts cut up into little pieces.
A girl in the bathroom at a sweaty bar tells me her fiance just broke up with her: Oh my gawd, me too!