every tuesday and thursday ashlee and i sit in the conference room during lunch for increased sanity and distance from others. today, a 40-something with wrinkle hiding bangs and a tan enters, stops dead in her tracks. “are you…are you all here for…the meeting?” she stammers.

i am distracted by the unnaturally autumnal hue of her skin. ashlee speaks instead. “we’re just doing homework.”

“oh,” bangs responds. “i was confused. i thought you all were here for the weight watchers meeting. but neither of you all should be.” bangs begins to bat her eyelashes erratically, the suburban housewife version of staking one’s territory.

“we’ll leave in a minute,” i say. meanwhile, another woman enters the room, hauling boxes of 70 calorie brownies that most likely taste like cow chips. she asks the same question.

“no,” we respond in tandem.

bangs introduces herself to the other woman as kathleen, but she will be playing lynn today. she laughs and her eyes bulge a bit and i think of african bull frogs. we leave.

i don’t ever want to turn 45.