by Katelyn McNeil
The holiday drinks at Starbucks are finally in. Happiness. Just the other day while I was waiting in line to buy my peppermint, white mocha with whip, I was eavesdropping on the conversation to the right of me. Come on, we all do this, at least I’’m being honest about it.
Anyway, a group of four or five junior high girls had taken over a small table for two. Little legs in skinny jeans, with feet stuffed inside UGG boots where sticking out all over the place. There were giggles as a boy probably in high school, walked in the door. Immediately their heads were sucked into one massive clump in the middle of the table as if a giant magnet had somehow grabbed all of their braces simultaneously. Soon the clump dissolved and conversation carried on as normal.
The little blonde girl (clearly the queen bee of the group) looks at the packaging of her cinnamon rolls says, “Oh my gosh! There’s like a million calories in this! Sick. I can’t even keep eating this.” The cinnamon roll flops in the garbage can next to the table. She’s probably a size zero, not exaggerating.
“Yeah, I would never eat that”, says her (maybe size one) friend, “I’’m counting my calories too and that totally wouldn’t be worth it.”
The other two friends who had not spoken in this part of the conversation yet, rush in “me too’s” so they don’’t appear out of the loop. As if counting calories is suddenly the new cool thing.
My drink is ready, I walk out the door sipping my 420 calories ever so slowly (yes, I had to look that one up) and enjoying every last drop.