Icky Old Men

We are about to meet Judy and Ruth Ann — two hawt gurlz who work the same shift serving drive-through ice cream. They are not sexay chix, but are both perky and kind of pretty. This may have been an unspoken qualification for their being hired. They neither knew nor cared.

They have never given any deliberate thought to the perks of being pretty. The blessed ease of acquitting their lives comes with the same presumption of privilege as being free, white and 21, which they will be in a few years, as well. On the other hand, they are well-acquainted with the burdens of their pulchritude.

People look at pretty girls. People stare at pretty girls — especially boys do. It’s usually kind of nice to be looked at by boys — especially the kind of young men who exude virility and strut their masculinity like a mating Greater Sage-grouse. The attention feels nice enough to move you to join into this self-reinforcing behavior by wearing pretty-damn-attractive outfits, holding and moving yourself with more than a hint of competitive pride, and, you know, being preternaturally perky.