NEVER be this girl.....

I walked into a restroom yesterday when I heard a couple of teenage girls chatting.  I was immediately annoyed because, well, teenage girls are annoying. They were both in stalls but must have been aware of my presence, I wasn't quiet. 

Then, as I'm doing the job I set out to do the saddest display began to unfold in the form of a conversation. Here is as direct a transcript as memory will allow to the intimate conversation I became privy to.....

pathetic little tart: So you know how I had that abortion the other day? What day was that? Sunday? Yeah Sunday.

note: at this point pathetic little tart got sidetracked because her toilet flushed too long. This resulted in her repeating "Oh my god, Umm... Umm... it just won't stop. Oh my god" for about two minutes straight. During which time I finish my business and flush. 

daft friend: Wait, what were you talking about?

pathetic little tart: What? Oh yeah, like so you know how like I had that abortion?

daft friend: Yeah. (very matter-of-factly)

I exit my stall and wash my hands. Pathetic little tart is staring at me in the mirror and gauging my reaction. I didn't react. 

pathetic little tart: (exiting stall) Well that clinic called me to, get this, 'see how I'm doing'.  They like called and like wanted to know if it worked or not. I was all like, don't you know? And they called on my moms cell phone too. Can you believe it.

daft friend: Now you're mom's totally going to know.

I exited the bathroom, stone faced and proceeded to repeat the conversation in  horror to McMader. 

I'm no prude and am staunchly pro choice. I guess you could say when it comes down to it I'm a quality over quantity kind of girl. Some people enjoy a buffet, some don't. I don't. 

The fact that this girl had an abortion didn't sadden or surprise me. It was that she was so completely starved for attention that she felt compelled to bring it up in front of a complete stranger in the women's restroom at the mall. Her mentioning that she gave the clinic her mother's cell phone number when every kid in America over the age of thirteen is practically required by law to carry one also raised a red flag. 

The whole thing was a cry for help, probably right down to the circumstances in which she got knocked up in the first place. She was only about fifteen and the way she stared me down in the mirror hoping I would react made me want to smack her across the face and then give her a big hug.