The other woman

My enjoyable hanging-upside-down-from-the-couch-and-reading-newspaper session this afternoon was interrupted by a question from hubby about whether I wanted to join him to see a car we had to buy. He gave me all of 10 minutes to pack myself and a sleeping baby in the car since someone was waiting 30 miles away. I made it in time, packing a zillion and one things for the little one as usual.

A prelude to this was the fact that our second car broke down quite prematurely and abruptly forcing us to buy another one this weekend.

Off we went to Westwood, a posh locality surrounding UCLA. We pulled up in what seemed to be a luxurious complex with a line of valet and other attendants and good looking people with tiny exotic dogs. A dude showed us his girl friend's SUV. It was a beautiful machine in excellent condition and we fell for it after taking it for a spin. Soon it was time to negotiate so our guy called his girl friend to get there. I saw her and nearly collapsed.

We spent the next 5 hours with that couple, discussing the car, checking the paperwork, taking it to the dealership for inspection, waiting waiting waiting, and finalizing the contract. All this time, I saw them, three of them, the couple and my hubby, talking, laughing and having fun while I watched them from a distance. They seemed to get along like a house on fire while I was pretending to be busy with the baby or my phone. Later I learnt that he had just sold his internet advertising company and she worked at a high end shoe boutique. She was upgrading to a convertible after driving this car for a year and a half.

The thing was, when I saw the girl, I was quite taken aback. I hadn't even looked into the mirror when I had left my place this morning. It was my day off and I was being at home in my summery unfitted dress that I had found somewhere from a pile of clothes. It sure hung on me but it felt so comfy. She was an LA 9 (a self explanatory term that describes the hotness of a girl on a scale of 1 to 10 per LA standards) and I was an LA disqualified today. She wore a tube top and matching capris with a peacock print that I swear I'd come across in a fashion mag somewhere, and I wore an old dress that hung on me. She had neon nail polish (!!!) and I had chipped color. She wore glam gladiator heels and I was in worn out black slippers. She had blow dried and colored hair and my head looked like a bird's nest.

I am not an insecure person for the most part. But this was just plain unfair. Unfair coz at the minimum, I am always presentable. But today was a miss. She looked like a movie star and I couldn't even pass for an illegal baby sitter. So I hid myself, for 5 long hours, while hubby probably discussed everything from burgers to beaches. She perhaps thought of me as a super domesticated mom who couldn't even talk English.

But she seemed nice. So nice that she wanted us to drive her car before even signing the papers, on the way to her place in Beverly Hills to pick up the pink slip. Of course she had forgotten it. And of course the boyfriend jumped in and asked us to follow her instead. Hubby only seemed too happy that he was allowed to legitimately follow a hot girl with wifey in the passenger seat for 3 miles. All's well that ends well I guess. We got the car and I never have to see her again.

As for the rest of the weekend, I'm gonna burn some clothes tomorrow that I haven't used in a long time.