No, it’s not a power company, nor a computer start up. It’s Picture Perfect Ladies. My abbreviatio for those perfect women we have all encountered. usually with envy and awe.
It’s those women who look good from any angle. Three hundred sixty degrees of perfection. PPL – Picture Perfect Ladies
Never a hair out of place, wearing the right size and shape handbag, lipstick never smears, and even her false eyelashes look real.
In addition to all this perfection, there is a certain kittenish feeling, an air of assumption, an expectation, I watched a senior couple at a restaurant. The wife was a PPL. When their breakfast order arrived, the husband reached for the pepper grinder and used it on his wife’s eggs. She never moved. That’s what PPLs are like. There is an assumtion, an expectation. I figure when they were growing up their mother chanted to them, “I expect to be adored. I expect reverence. ” Their daughters grew up hearing and repeating that mantra until it became true. My mother’s mantra was. “Never be late. Always be one time. And make sure you clean under your bed.” Not advice to enhance my demeanor.
Recently I watched two PPLs deep in conversation, with intent expressions of concern. So, being a curious person, I sidled up close to them and peered off into the distance, with my head and ears slanted in their direction. It turned all that all the intensity and concentration was about a TV show – Sex in the City.
Sex in the City? Not the Gaza – Israeli situation, not American politics. Just a inane TV show. But they sure looked good doing it.
Maybe PPLs spend so much energy is creating a perfect person, that there’s not much left for intellectural stimulation. Maybe they are like the outside of a house – painted beautifully ooutside but empty inside. I dunno—except I’m still envious of them.