Starbucks Drama: Tangerine culottes and a baleful glare

Now, we all know that I like my comfy chair. The way this Starbucks is currently configured, I can sit in the corner and view the entire store, the register and the handoff bar. And be in the comfy chair. If it is crowded, I sit wherever. But I prefer the comfy chair. Tangerine Culottes had other ideas.

I'm browsing/typing away when she walks in and nails - nay, flays - me with a look. This old bird could probably sandblast the hulls of oil tankers with her tongue and give Kal-El a run for his money in the heat vision department. I don't really have a problem with staring, so I hit her back. Because she is wearing tangerine culottes.

This isn't a skirt. It isn't pants. It doesn't hit the ankle. It isn't shorts. It lands somewhere between knee and ankle and has a balloon effect. And it is bright tangerine. BRIGHT. Day-Glo even.

Her shoes are even more interesting, because they are THE SAME shade and resemble what I can only describe as tangerine bondage gear. There's a wide sole with a web of straps in that same bright orange coming out of a central strip. It looks like an orange spider is nestling on each of her feet.

The top is ... interesting. Her shirt looks like a roll of Life-Savers, lots of rings of different colors, with a bulge in the middle just over her waist. Was that uncharitable? Don't care. Over this is YET MORE tangerine, a GAP or Old Navy sweater. This woman *lives* for tangerine. I would seriously hate to see her bathroom. Probably looks like a Minute Maid factory blew up.

I really do not know what I did to upset her. Probably sat in her favorite chair. Either way, I get a look that would melt lesser mortals into the purple upholstery. It bounces. I tweet. She moves on.

She and her friend, who's wearing some dumpy denim and a ratty color-block shirt that Martha Stewart's gardener's gardener's housekeeper doesn't do the dishes in sit down and proceed to slice their way through four slices of pound cake (two apiece) and two caramel macchiatos while carrying on in a high whine about grandkids, traveling to Greece and some Italian restaurant Tangerine Culottes and her friend Susan visited last week. Poor Susan.

Dumpy Denim just screeched "THAT WAS A VISUAL WASN'T IT?" in response to something. It sure as hell was Denim. It sure as hell was.