Most. Annoying. Women. Ever.

Most. Annoying. Women. Ever.

Even the baristas agreed after they left.

There are times when I feel like this whole "baristas read the blog" thing might not work out. Then there are times when we're all on the same page thinking the same snarky thoughts about the same bratty customers.

Five frisky females frolic into the store.

Three of them go right through the entire seating area and put their purses and bags down on the comfy chairs. Another one grabs a chair from one of the small tables and brings it over. Then they start re-arranging the chair so that there's a small pod of chairs and one of the tables.

It was like watching an episode of "The Real Housewives of Hoboken." Each chair had to be precisely within screeching distance of the other. Maybe it was some sort of weird pentagram thing? The five vixens of VIA? They plumped the cushions, they even fetched napkins and wiped down the table - even though they never actually  used it for anything but putting down the fake bags and the coffees.

Three of the five frisky females sit right down and start gabbing at THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS, even though the only other people in the place are me and two baristas. It was unnaturally loud - as if they needed to fill the silence before it stole in and reminded them of their own puny insignificance in the greater scheme of things.

The other two stand at the register and stare at the menu board. I can't tell if it is the words that are boggling them - or the concept of choices.

Predictably, they're the two blondes out of the set - and the thinner ones. The larger brunettes (there were no redheads) are still yakking up a storm.

Finally, the blondes order. A decaf tall sugar free vanilla soy latte and a decaf grande soy latte. That's barely coffee.

They get the drinks and go sit in the pod. And PROCEED TO GABBLE THEIR FACES OFF FOR A GOOD HALF HOUR.

The conversation was inane. They talked about the enchiladas they just ate for dinner at some Mexican restaurant - and then dissected the entire meal in detail, plate by plate - and compared notes on who had what and how they might be able to duplicate it at home.

I know more about the menu at this joint than I do about the places I go to regularly. I had NO IDEA that rice, beans, tacos, chalupas and enchiladas provided such fertile ground for conversation. Well, they're usually "fertile ground" for post-dinner explosions, but that's another topic entirely.

Then, they moved on to how the the loudest of the lot, a perky brunette with a rotund bottom and a bad Smart & Sassy haircut managed to capture the comfy chairs. Note that there was no "battle" for the comfy chairs. The place had been empty - except for me - for a good half-hour. The baristas had already mopped, straightened up the cafe and emptied out the newspaper racks. Until they came along and treated the place like their living room.

Apparently, the comfy chairs at every Starbucks in the area code are reserved for the Brunette Brunhilde's exclusive use the moment she enters the sphere of a Starbucks.

These words came out of her mouth at a decibel level designed to shatter glass, steel, concrete and the sanity of any number of holy figures in a variety of Eastern religions. That laugh.

Brunette described her technique. "If I come in and someone is sitting in my chair, I just stare at them. I sit right in front of them and I stare. I wait until they get up and then I sit down. These are my chairs."

I laughed out loud at that one and the whole pack looked at me. I realized that I might have been vulnerable - because all I had to defend myself was the dregs of a hot chocolate and my iPhone - and neither was going to put much of a dent in the masses of hairspray, fake tan and Dillard's fashion trying to masquerade as Bloomingdale's if they decided to charge.

They eventually settled down though - and went back to talking about cake.

Which was even worse.

One of the other brunettes - this one dressed in a tan sweater set - decided to re-live their dessert. And with Kali as my witness, if I'd have been their waiter .....

Apparently, they all decided that they "didn't need the calories" - so they ordered one slice of chocolate cake and five forks.

And I got to re-live the argument over who had the distinct dishonor of getting the extra bite and was going to have to work it off on the tennis court tomorrow morning.

Now. None of these girls was a goliath, but neither were they size twos. Just screamers.

When they packed up and left, I was so happy.

And when the baristas came over and started moving all the furniture back, mumbling under their breath, I started to laugh, because all they said was "Wow. They were loud."

Fake hair, fake tans, fake smiles, fake bags and fake coffee. I wonder if the friendships were fake too?

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