Yeah, well, we tried – emphasis on tried – to sneak into Tratto on Thursday, but alas, no luck; the place was still packed at 8:45 PM, with no signs of abating anytime soon, so we went with Plan ‘B’ instead, skipping next door to Pizzeria Bianco.

My wife and I quickly settled on a white pizza and chose a fantastic Italian Barbera to go with, then we both dove into the bread and olive oil – not to be missed – while awaiting delivery of said pie.

It was edging toward closing time, so there weren’t too many tables occupied outside: ours, a foursome finishing up nearby and a two-top occupied by a pair of thirty-somethings right behind me/us. I mention this only to underscore how quiet it was while we were sitting there enjoying the recent arrival of cooler/fall temperatures. Errant snippets of conversation(s) from these nearby tables wafted easily through the night air, albeit much to my chagrin, as I was only too soon to realize – yikes!

Hmmm… What shall I call these two females picking at their food while slowly, but surely, draining their glasses? Ah, I’ve got it – how about ‘nasty women‘?! Yes, that’s it – I’ll go with ‘Nasty Woman #1’ and ‘Nasty Woman #2’, or NW1 and NW2 for short.

Imagine a peroxide blonde and – I’m guessing here – a brunette, routinely lapsing into what can only be described as that all-too-common – and incredibly irritating – vocal pattern consisting of nasally, hissed ‘s’es shot through quasi-clenched jaws with most sentences starting off with “I was like…”. Yup, definitely high maintenance. Upspeak? Plenty. …and, of course, lots and lots and lots of “I was like…” generally followed by a description of either a work-related, a relationship-related or a politically-related crisis of Biblical proportion.

Jesus effin’ Christ, where was our pie? ;-)

Apparently NW1, (the blonde), was having a fit about the equally nasty woman she worked for… NW1 was the faultless – yeah, always the faultless – victim of crucial information being withheld, being excluded from essential meetings, etc., which was definitely – definitely – impeding her ability to do her job. Ah, how incredibly clear-eyed we can be when venting our spleen in the [relatively] safe company of a like-minded compatriot. Nasty.

Happily, our server interrupted my eves-dropping exercise, gliding up to our table to deposit a four-cheese beauty festooned with arugula on top. Bliss! Sheer bliss! …as I savored the first bite or two, I caught bits and pieces of NW2, (the brunette), lamenting her involvement with what, by all accounts, is/was a Neanderthal; apparently he wasn’t being as sympathetic to her needs as is/was warranted while on a recent date. “I was like…” Yeah, nasty.

My wife and I traded satisfied smiles as we happily munched on our delicious pizza and sipped on our exquisite wine. It was at this point I rolled my eyes and used my thumb to poke back toward the table behind us, saying, (in a very low voice), “You’re not going to believe what these two are yammering about!”

…and just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, er, uh, I mean, nasty, it did.

Sad. Really. Sad.

Yeah, you guessed it. These two nasty women began rationalizing why a Trump presidency might – emphasis on might – be OK. I know one said she’d voted for Clinton, and maybe both of them did, but for God’s sake, stop telling yourself “…it’ll be OK, it’ll be OK, it’ll be OK…” It won’t be.

First, we got the laundry list of Clinton’s misdeeds and/or foibles:

NW1 “…well, what about those missing emails?”

NW2 “…oh, I don’t know about that, what about the foundation and conflict of interest?”

Yeah, like either of these tw*ts would know how to spell ‘conflict of interest’, let alone explain it.

NW1 “…and what about the kind of judges she’d nominate?”

Walkin’ it back. Walkin’ it back. Walkin’ it back.

What I found even more horrifying were the feeble-minded attempts at normalizing a most abnormal – and reprehensible – human being, the a**hole known as Donald J. Trump:

NW1 “…well, I’m thinking he can’t be any worse than she’d be, right? I mean, right?”

Wrong.

NW2 “Oh, c’mon, Congress is gonna watch him closely, right? …I mean, they have to, right?”

Wrong. Again.

NW1 [sigh] “…at least we’ll get a tax break, right? I mean, he’s gonna cut taxes, right?”

Uh, wrong. …but that’s only because any tax break ushered in by the Republicans won’t benefit those carrying balances on their credit cards, making lease payments on that 5-series out front, or [still] writing rent checks. Sorry, there lassy, but yer swingin’ a tad above yer weight class!

Ouch.

More hissing. Flouncing. Bouncing. …a cotton tail? It took every ounce of restraint not to spin around and verbally shred these two inebriated, self-absorbed and, yes, completely clueless tw*ts to pieces. Somehow, (and I honestly don’t know why I didn’t; perhaps my chivalry gene kicked in), I refrained from doing so.

…well, OK, maybe it was my totally d*ck move of passively aggressively shredding ’em after-the-fact, right here on my blog! w00t! w00t! :-)

Check dropped. Pizza boxed. We split. …leaving these two very nasty women marinating in their own stew of self-righteous rationalization.