We used to call them “the Russian girls” but I think only one of them was actually Russian and then the other ones were Ukrainian or Polish or something. They all had long, straight hair and they got good grades and they dressed funny. Their clothes seemed outdated, but the tailoring was always impeccable, like they were wearing clothes from the fifties made from fabrics that were in fashion five years ago. They didn’t blend in, and you could tell that they weren’t impressed. But, if ever you had to work on a team project with one of them, she would act quite professional and almost kind and she would talk a bit about her kittens and about her grandmother, mastering the art of small talk before we were even aware that “small talk” was a well-known, commonly accepted and, dare I say, necessary form of communication.
The Russian girls were all skinny except for the chubby one, and you could barely call her “chubby”. No, you would probably call her “voluptuous” or “womanly”, and you would probably call the skinny ones “thin”, but you didn’t know them. You didn’t really know them. Neither did we, but we thought we did. We thought that because we observed them for five years and saw what they ate for lunch every day that we knew them.
Needless to say, we hated them.
No comments:
Post a Comment