The Bus Drivers' Daughter

On the bus ride home today, I made a new friend. I don't know her. I don't her name. I don't even know how old she is. However, I learned more about her in ten minutes than I do of most of my coworkers after three months, thanks to my wonderful bus driver. He was talking to some woman on the bus, and I, and whomever else was lucky enough to be sitting up front, got to hear all about it.

She's an athlete. Basketball and volleyball season is coming up for her, so that means she'll do nothing around the house, not that she ever did before. She whines. A lot. "Go into the kitchen, cut up some watermelon into little pieces, and pierce them with a toothpick and bring them to me." (Verbatim from her bus driver father.) Originally, he told her to do it herself. Then he said he gave in and did it for her. Last week she bought $105.00 worth of bras. Actually, there were only two bought. And apparently, she's heavy, and has quite a large chest. Not like her mother though; her mother is smaller, smaller than her father. (Let's not go into how this is her FATHER talking about her like this. That's a whole other discussion.) She wants to go to the University of Notre Dame (which leads me to believe she is sixteen to seventeen years old; safe assumption, no?) She has good grades, which, according to her bus driver father, she'll need to get into the University of Notre Dame. She's spoiled (he said it first, as did his passenger friend).

So that is my bus drivers' daughter. A spoiled, well stacked, athletic teenager. As I said, I learned more about her in ten minutes than I ever learned about my coworkers. Sad, isnt it?