At an upscale restaurant in a nice part of town, three girls sat around a table.  The first girl had dirty blonde hair with highlights and wore a large, expensive engagement ring.  The second girl had dirty blonde hair with highlights and wore a larger and slightly more expensive engagement ring.  The third girl had brown hair, was fatter than the other two, and did not wear an engagement ring.

“Let me tell you about where Harry and I are going,” said the one with the expensive engagement ring.

“Ooh, I must know,” said the one with the more expensive engagement ring.

The fat one sat there, making steady progress through the calamari appetizer while pretending to merely nibble at it.  “I bet it’s Puerto Vallarta,” she said between mouthfuls.

“Cabo!” announced the one who was going to Cabo and hoping that her decision to temporarily withhold that piece of information would lend weight to its disclosure.  “Harry and I got a wonderful deal with the travel agent, and we’re staying at this wonderful place, the wonderful place where Dave and Beth—remember Beth from Delta Tau?—stayed.”

“Wonderful, just wonderful!” exclaimed the one with the more expensive engagement ring who was pleased that the one with the less expensive engagement ring was going only to Cabo and not some fancier or more exotic locale.

The fat one was immersed in the plate of calamari but grunted her approval.

At an upscale restaurant in a nice part of town, a sad young man who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness was eating what he believed to be his last meal.  He had decided to kill himself that evening, after he had finished his lobster dinner and written a terse but poignant farewell letter to his parents.

“Would you like some more unsweetened tea?” a cheerful waitress with large white teeth asked the man with the terminal illness.

“No, I’m fine,” answered the man with the terminal illness.  “Just the check.”

At an upscale restaurant in a nice part of town, a cheerful waitress with large white teeth left a patron’s table and walked back to the kitchen.  When she entered the kitchen, a cook with a Neanderthal skull and a deformed right hand gave her a small bag of cocaine.  Two hours earlier, the waitress had had sexual intercourse with the cook.  The bag of cocaine was his end of their bargain.

At an upscale restaurant in a nice part of town, you wait and watch.  What mattered to you when you were a child is no longer of any importance.  Unjustified, you never stood a chance.