Observing the women

We went out to dinner last night at one of our favorite new places, a trendy asian restaurant with wonderful food. We only go there once every two weeks or so because it's one of the more expensive places we like (expensive by Mexican standards meaning 40 dollars feeds three with tip). We're trying to enjoy these last few weeks while the company is still footing the bill for our food and while we can still dine out without a small, noisy package in tow. This particular place is very trendy Mexican, young businessmen and their dates and groups of young women preparing for a night on the town. We aren't the typical clientele; me with my big stomach waddling in wearing stretch pants, Seb still in his company work shirt and Little S --trains clutched tightly in each hand. It's a great place to people watch though. I like this as much as the orange chicken.

I am trying to figure out each time we go out the mystery as to why Mexican women wear so much make-up and dress up so much. It must take them hours to get ready. It may be that I'm used to French women who wear so little make-up I've always wondered how cosmetic companies can make any money in France. I've never met a French woman wearing eyeshadow and most never wear lipstick, something my mother always notices when she visits. But in Mexico it's all about the makeup--even our hotel maid wears sky blue eyeshadow--and it's all about the nails, and the spikey shoes and the skin tight dress and the hair. It's a whole package that is unbelievable when seen on a Friday night in a roomfull of such women.

Last night at the table next to us a woman strolled in with her boyfriend with the whole Pamela Anderson package--cleavage I have never seen in France. Her hair was very long, dark and whispy and her platform shoes added a good four inches to her small frame. She had on about a thousand dollars in gold jewelry; bangles, necklaces and long filligree earrings. I was really shocked but no one in the restaurant blinked an eye. I had the impression all the other women were admiring, maybe even a little jealous. I asked Seb what he thought. He stayed neutral "I really didn't notice" even though she'd walked right past him. "Are you blind?" I said. He turned his head a little, "Oh yes...um okay." I was facinated. Maybe this is something I'll get used to like everything else. Maybe I'll even adopt big hair and makeup and push up bras, casting aside my hippie look. Four inch heels are tough though. I don't see myself mixing those in with my Birkenstock collection.