tudo de verde

"It's been three weeks and he hasn't called," whined one.

"There are other fish in the sea," the other counseled. They clinked glasses and chugged. A long pause.

"I wonder if he's just busy," the first one mused.

Camarero came around with a skewer of chicken sausage. The sleepy one declined, and stabbed at a baby carrot. As the only one not talking, not wearing green makeup, not discussing roundhouse kicks, and not eating meat in the Brazilian barbecue house, she could have stood out, but chose instead to become one of the sketches on the wall no one looked at. She listened.

The whiny one said the guy's job was probably keeping him from calling. The counselor agreed. The whiny one said she was worth her weight in gold, and the counselor agreed. The whiny one said thanks, but no more tri-tip or I'll turn into a heifer! The counselor agreed.

"I mean, it's all about standards," said the first. "You can look, but don't you touch this!" She was wearing a t-shirt that said the very same thing in flaking gold lettering.

The sleepy one thought the Brazilians were right on with their pricing - 20 percent tip made it an even $30, no muss, no fuss. She started to enjoy the melted feeling of nothingness - it was easy when she tuned out the heifers and remembered that her kitchen cabinet at home was stocked with Campbell's.

"If someone else asks me out, I'm going out!" said the first, shattering the sleepy one's vegetable soup reverie.

"Go, girl," said her counselor.

The sleepy one smiled, understanding at last why the green girls were always around: they could make anyone feel smart. The green girls and the movie stars gathered with the guest of honor, and the sleepy one took their picture, not needing to be in it.

Parabens para voce.