“Oh my god! I can’t believe you just said that! He did NOT say that! Oh. My. God.” As I whined… “Oh my god! I can’t believe you just said that! He did NOT say that! Oh. My. God.” As I whined those words into my pastel pink cell phone, I realized that I sounded like one of “them.”

One of “those girls” – those girls who screw up the pedestrian traffic flow on Forbes as they clip-clop around in their impossibly high heels. Those girls whose bleached blond hair glimmers in the harsh Pittsburgh winter sun, blinding all that draw too near. Those girls who moan into their cell phones far too loudly on public buses, whose earth-shatteringly important conversations always seem to go something like, “So I couldn’t decide between the brown shoes and the black shoes, so I bought them both! I got some red pleather knee-high boots, too! They were on sale.”

Everybody hates those girls. That’s why I’m so afraid I’m turning into one. I thought I’d be safe. I know how to change my oil! I’ve used power tools! I’m not one of those girls!

My best friend from high school is staring into the “those girls abyss.” I blame it on her new low-carb diet. The last time we had lunch at Hemingway’s, she ordered her burger with the condiments on the side. Then she picked off the bun. When I asked her why she didn’t just have them hold the bun, she said, “I’m not going to be one of those girls.”

Dining out with one of those girls is an experience. They’re picky, persnickety, and not to be confused with “that girl with the food allergies,” because that girl only interrogates the waiter about the exact ingredients of the Tiramisu because a stray peanut can kill her. Those girls won’t die from eating a molecule of sugar – but you can bet they’ll act like they will.

“Yeah, I’ll have a burger. Can I have the mustard on the side? Oh, and the tomato as well? Oh, and you can keep the bun. No, no fries. I think mayo’s OK. Wait, is it even my day to eat red meat? I don’t know. Well, if it’s not and I do, I’ll just ruin my diet. You know what? Keep the burger and I’ll just nibble on this lettuce here. No, no, I don’t want any of your lettuce. Your lettuce might have been contaminated by a carbohydrate!”

I thank God I’ve never been that girl. Although I have been the girl who orders the triple chunk chocolate ice cream with extra hot fudge and a small Diet Coke.

But I think I should get credit for thinking, “Bitch, who do you think you’re fooling? Look at you! You’re that girl,” while I did it.

Why is it that those girls, no matter how thin they are already, are always on a diet? Is there a reason why they’re so often blondes? Is it something about being one of those girls that means you start to hate everything about yourself, from your weight to your hair? Is that why those girls always look so perfect – and so much alike?

Are those girls a simple cultural phenomenon, a media construction to sell beauty products and diet aids? No, my friend, they are not. As I looked into the abyss that is the world of those girls, I realized they’re something far more sinister.

Those girls are clones who infect those around them with inferiority complexes. Those girls make the average girl look at herself with a critical eye, comparing herself to the perfection of those girls. The mere glimpse of that perfection sends the rest of us running for hair dye and Metabolife. That’s when the transformation begins.

First, it’s a cheery cell phone cover, perhaps sparkly or jewel-toned. Then, before you know it, you’re ordering your life on the side in a restaurant and spending hours plucking stray eyebrow hairs. I’ve been there. It’s their plan. While we’re occupied with beauty rituals and inane phone conversations, those girls will take over the world.

Now that you know, you can do your part to stop those girls. If you happen to see one of those girls, give her a cookie. Sugary snacks are the only way to stop them.

If you’re a girl, resist the urge to emulate them. Wear sneakers and sweats to class. Order fatty entrees and syrupy desserts. Don’t apologize for it. If you’re a guy, recognize that those girls will never date you. They don’t have the time for you. Find yourself a nice, natural girl, one who prefers pasta to Pilates and whose idea of doing her hair is tying it up in a ponytail. Open your eyes to that quirky Goth chick in your chemistry lab or that cool female co-worker who’s just like one of the boys. You’d be amazed at the world of possibilities that opens up when you widen your standards to include all sorts of beauty.

After all, isn’t variety what life’s all about?

Beth Hommel is sorry for mocking that girl with the food allergies, but makes no apologies to those girls, who can e-mail their outrage to [email protected].