Do you ever use someone else's sunglasses as a mirror to check yourself out under the guise of making eye contact?
My college roommates and I used to call this sort of semi-surreptitious vanity "pulling a BMC." The BMC was the shorthand name for The Biomedical Center, a science building on campus completely paneled in gun-metal mirrors. Thus, its walls were perfect for examining your own reflection as you walked down the block on which this building stood, affording you a 250 foot-long view of yourself strutting and strolling between classes.
We loved to call each other out on it. "Are you pulling a BMC?" Caught in the act, the perpetrator was begrudgingly forced to admit that she was.
My statuesque friend with whom I was talking yesterday didn't go to college with me, so she was presumably unaware that I was partially using her head as a mirror. In my view, if you get the privilege of being a 6"0 tall woman, the least you can do for your 5"3 troll friends is to charitably help them feel less ugly by letting them gaze up into your sunglasses to try to get a piece of cilantro out of their teeth and see whether or not they look cute today.
Since I'm such a great multitasker though, I was able to focus on myself AND our conversation.
We were talking (in part) about how gross it was to change a diaper when your kid is fully shitting turds, but also how satisfying it is when it's one hard piece that you can just dump into the toilet, and almost--almost--even immediately reuse the diaper because there's only just a tiny streak mark.
It was at this moment that we saw another whale breach in the Gastineau Channel, its cetacean majesty the perfect compliment to this moment.
"God, I love a good whale," I said to a third friend of mine standing next to me.
We were all at the edge of the beach, scanning the horizon for more tell-tale poofs of humpback whale breath and tailfins, of which we'd seen the summer's first grouping moments ago.
My tall friend and spontaneous mirror also worked as a marine naturalist on boats across the seven seas captained by her husband (that bitch has it all), so she knows how to use her 6"0 eyeballs for more than just a reflective surface.
"I know," responded my other friend, who though a lifelong Juneauite, was not jaded on whales. "I love a good whale too."
And who doesn't?
For I was positive that nowhere else in the world at that very moment were three women standing around looking at whales, talking about toddler turds, and using each other's heads for mirrors all at the same time.
God, I love a good whale.