You may wonder: why a blog dedicated to twenty-something girls? I mean, really, I'm a middle of the road thirty-something girl (exact age not disclosed), so I hardly qualify for being a twenty-something fortunately. I'm not dating a twenty-something unfortunately. Am I jealous? Secretly longing for those 'glory' days like a 40+ ex pro-athlete turned cologne peddler who craves the rush of screaming fans?
No, in fact, any of the above would be a whole lot sexier than the actual truth.
It actually all began with a pot pie. Yep. Yum.
A few months ago, I was invited to a friend's new exhibit showing at a cute gallery on Bridgeport (otherwise known as BFE). I was excited to find out that a restaurant I had been dying to try was right down the street.
After I scooped up a delightfully sounding mushroom and kale pot pie, I walked over to the gallery. Giddy and drooling with excitement, I had decided that this bad boy was going to be devoured in the privacy of my home, because I was going to get hands-on with it and people don't need to see me get all caveman. So, I carefully placed my pot pie box in a corner of the room and decided to mingle for about an hour until I left.
An hour later, as I was gathering my things, I noticed that the lid to my glorious pot pie box had been messed with. Frantic, I ran over hoping that nobody had man-handled it. It was worse. Much worse. Someone had actually EATEN my precious pie. Yes, eaten food from someone else, someone they didn't know, a stranger. Savages!
Shocked I looked around. Silently pleading for help. Looking for answers to the riddle. I was in disbelief. The crime - it was too much for me to handle.
My eyes darted to a figure slinking to my right. It was a slow shuffle. And it was unmistakable. There, about a couple feet away, stood a young girl, mouth full of food, crumbs on her lips, deer in headlights look on her twenty-something face. She had skinny jeans. Blunt-cut bangs. Guilt scrawled across her forehead. We met eyes. In that moment she knew I knew she was the offender. And in that moment she - like many twenty-something girls - got scared as hell that a thirty-something girl was pissed. And, that I was.
BUT, what my many mistakes and experiences from my twenties taught me is that you learn to think before you act. And I walked away. Hungry. Cursing under my breath.
See, that's what twenty-something girls do. They do things without thinking about the bigger picture - much less the damage. This twenty-something was hungry and so she stole a stranger's food. That's all. She didn't think the fact that it was someone else's, nor that it's actually rude to take something that's not yours, and that it's really rude to know that you had taken it and not apologize.
I realized that you can't really be mad at a child because they don't know any better. What you do is teach.
Afterwards, I felt compelled, heck empowered to be a beacon of hope and inspiration for all the twenty-something girls in Chicago. I'm going to call out those behaviors that you all think are 'cute' and ‘funny’ but really aren't. Hopefully this will serve as a teaching tool to save twenty-something girls from embarrassment or an ass-kicking (both of which I've been subject to).
To the other part of the populous - I'm doing this for you. I'm helping to make tomorrow's future more promising by calling out the BS today. And, in the process, make you laugh your ass off.
And to that twenty-something pot pie perp: thank you for inspiring me and this blog. You are my muse. You also owe me $7.95 plus tax.