"Ohmigod" Samaantha

"Ohmigod" Samaantha never entered a place; she always made an entrance. She always made sure she was heard, just on the off chance we hadn't seen her trailing her trophy husband. "He's so much younger than me, but you know, I never met anyone else before who I even wanted to marry. I just knew, after two months. This Is the Man for Me. Isn't he gorgeous?"

Gorgeous trophy just grimaced, fully convinced the expression was an endearing grin. Samaantha spoke with an edge of desperation which she tried to convey as enthusiasm, that hyper tone which cut through any crowd, even in her hushed confidences. That desperation, seeking of approval, was evident to everyone, except Ohmigod herself. Dropping names and justifications like an amputee juggler, her intense eyes bore into whatever audience she had selected for the moment, with all due appearances of sincerity. Of course Ohmigod always wanted to talk to you, so long as you wanted to listen about her. Which of course you did.

"I was almost beginning to think I'd been left on the shelf," she confided. "But what fun I had on the shelf! But now that I'm," and here she stage-whispered, "forty …" and paused for the expected 'oh but you don't look it,' even though she did. "Well, you know. Tick tock," she continued, undeterred.

Gorgeous trophy continued to grimace. "All my previous boyfs were all singers with bands, or racing drivers, or managing directors," she patted his arm, "but so interested in themselves, you know. Like the last one, big, and I mean big, football fan. So he had to go. Not gene pool material."

"I've done the career thing, but now I'm ready for somewhere quieter, suitable for the progeny. Oh, it's so quaint here, but Girl Guide holiday or what? Well, we would have to choose the oldest house in the village, so historic and full of character. Tiny, but all period, you know. It's like camping, and I know I've done the London thing, and would never go back, but I do miss Harrods," she dropped, as though expecting either complete agreement, or else an admission of unfathomable social inferiority on the part of her audience.

One had to be impressed, simply had to be. Else Ohmigod would be off to the next willing or unwitting victim to project against. One might after a while wish for that, of course.

"How long have we been married? Nearly two months, isn't it delicious?" Gorgeous trophy tried as hard to look enthusiastic as Samaantha tried to sound it, but he was already looking bored. But that's the thing with social ladders. You only need the bottom rung once.