f) bitter waitress

her name’s adrian. she’s five foot even maybe 100 pounds. her hair is an perpetual coif, you know it i’m sure, frozen in the eighties, pouffed in the front in quasi-bangs. the style you usually see blowing in the wind behind the wheel of a trans-am complete w/ a t-roof. today she had the audacity to comment that if i spent a little more time on my do, then maybe i’d have a boyfriend. or several. “really girl” a voice that has been blessed with thirty plus years of smoking “we should do something about it.” granted, i again rolled out of bed, dragged myself into the shower then bundled my ass long locks into a bun on the top of my head. fine. i’m just being sensitive. the bartender laughs at me, saying “don’t take it too personally, i’m sure she just had too many bottles of chardonnay for breakfast.”