Their conversation was crisp and piercing rising above the din of patrons and the service staff of the restaurant. It was obvious that these ladies have come on their own so that they can afford to eat in fine restaurants where the average menu could send one‚s monthly budget to the cleaners. The given facts are:
1) They are financially stable having nurtured a career that paid handsome dividends or they married well or inherited a largesse;
2) One or two hold corporate jobs and lunching out enable them to network, compare notes or simply meet their equals;
3) They‚’re all past the child-bearing age but they’re still child-rearing evidenced by the baby, obviously doted on by the grand lola and her contemporaries;
4) They will order anything and everything wicked and sinful in the menu. (Junk dieting when one is in good company);
5) They will talk about anything and anyone who’s not physically around to deny or confirm it. The juicy tidbits are not left out especially when it is the "who’s been caught doing what, where and how" buzz-of-the-town!
6) They all exhibit a genuine care and concern for each other.
7) Men are not wanted here. Their presence is not demanded nor expected.
One suddenly moved her hands towards her face as she demonstrated the different pressure points describing the beauty massage she had in a health or spa resort. The other raised her signature bag to show off the pretty color and the pretty sum she paid while another busily distributed prayer novenas for everyone’s physical and emotional deliverance. A lady from the next table hopped across to make beso-beso (cheek-to-cheek greeting).
My ginger carrot soup arrived and I spooned it with gusto. Looking up, I saw them struggling with the dessert menu searching desperately for a sugarplum delight that’s not fattening and sweet. Huh?
Just when they were about to order, a lady sauntered past their table looking casually elegant in a Hanae Mori printed jersey skirt with a matching lycra top. Everybody looked up to stare, jaws almost reaching the floor. (It reminded me of that lone wolf in a Warner Brothers cartoon whose eyes bulged and made a twang-like, coil-in-a-spring-mattress sound at the sight of a sultry, one-sided coiffed, femme fatale). The initial shock was finally broken by one generously proportioned woman who blurted a stiff resolve, "Long black coffee na lang dear!" She quickly dug inside her purse to pull out a fat-absorbing tablet called "Chito-san," something she should have done before she gulped down anything on her plate.
Checking my watch, it was past 3 p. m. and they were still steep in tea and conversation. When the waiter finally came to present the bill, everybody pulled out their credit cards rushing to be the first to slap it face down on the table.
Chuckling amusedly, I could have told them, "There’s no need to fuss dear ladies. There will be more lunches to come and you can each have your turn." Look at me; this was my turn to treat Maverick except she didn’t show up. I was lunching alone! It didn‚t matter. With the free "entertainment" I got, I would do it again.