As a girl, I have like, three a lot of girl friends. My girl friends and I do girl things, like get mani-pedis, go to yoga, drink lattes, and freak out, obsess over, and talk about boys.
Of course, it isn’t just ‘talking’ when boys are the topic of girls’ conversation: it’s a ceremony of passive-aggressive condescension; it’s the Hunger Games; it’s death-by-advice.
Girls don’t console; they condescend. We don’t offer solutions; we stab backs. We meddle and manipulate. If a friend has a weak moment, we use it as an opportunity to stoke the fires of crazy in the pit of her psycho girl soul so that she walks away from the conversation convinced her boyfriend is cheating on her with eight different strippers with whom he’s fathered at least a dozen illegitimate children.
And also, she’s getting a little fat.
