I felt like the turd in the punchbowl

A woman that resembled "the patron saint of hotness" as Decorno calls her, sat down with her date last night at the table directly across from me and my boyfriend. They were on a date, I suspect it was one of their first but that they had known each other through a group setting [you can tell these things]. She seemed comfortable enough to blab, "I mean, who does she think she is?" all the while her handsome and older date pretended to care and engage her in dialog about said friend, so that he could stare at her longer.

We all cared. Me, my boyfriend who snuck glances [and he never does that], me again, the waitress, the busboy, me again, all trying to figure out if she was actually that beautiful or if it was just the perfectly fluffy, curled hair that made it seem as-if. I still can't tell you if she was, I couldn't get a good stare in without being a stalker. She had the Angelina hair and enough eye make up to support Sephora for a a year [expertly applied I might add] and me having my little A-line "cute" bob felt like the turd in the punchbowl. I was feeling so proud that my hair had grown out enough to fit into a stubby little pony tail and then Miss Glamour Hair, skinny-girl-super-hotness sits down next to me. I would describe myself as "cute" but it would be nice to be "glamourous", I just never have been that girl. I felt like someone had barfed on me the rest of the evening.

The boyfriend is so nice, after telling him later that evening how I felt like the "dog of all dogs". He said in his normal fashion, "Honey, she was too skinny and she looked like a hooker with all that makeup on". He's such a smart man - to say such lovely things about her. I thank his mother and all the women who came before me that educated him on such elequant words in describing such women. Just another reason I love him. [even though we all know it's a lie.]

God Bless the good boyfriend.