Eating lunch is an act of bravery.

Today I had a work lunch with 4 other ladies. One was a coworker. Two, I had never met before. Within five minutes of sitting down, the conversation turned not to editorial and advertising and magazines and what-not, but to scales. And hipbones. And skirts. Not just any scales though-- scales that can send an electric current through you to measure your water weight. Not just any hipbones--but hipbones that jut out enough so said hipbones' owner can measure her weight. Not just any skirts--but a 20 year old skirt that skirt owner wears once a week to gauge her belly fat.

Ok, this was all disturbing enough. Then, the waitress read the specials, I thought the pasta sounded good, so I ordered it. Let me tell you-- it's like I had just announced I was going to run for Mayor of Philadelphia.

"You go girl!"
"Good for you! It's your birthday! You deserve it!"
"If you can't eat pasta on your birthday, when can you?"

At this point, I am utterly confounded. I didn't think pasta was that daring of a lunch choice. And I don't usually talk weight at a lunch meeting. WTF. Well, now that I am 27, I guess I have to learn these things.

(Disclaimer: my coworker was pretty sane throughout and did not really add to the madness.)