I'll bet she's leaving a slimy trail; she's such a slug, Jean thought. Similar opinions were forming elsewhere about the room as the women tried to imagine what the "new woman's" attraction might be. Surely she was not as ugly as some people had claimed, but she was far from what any but the most visually impaired would call beautiful. Rumor negated the idea that it might be her scintillating conversation. It had been said, one could have a far livelier discussion with a parrot. Of course, that might be just so much trash talk. Small towns love to size up newcomers and seldom give the benefit of the doubt, especially when there's the slightest hint of mystery. Though, for some reason, every man in the room was drawn to watch the new "girl," as they thought of her.
Jean Watson, glancing at her husband, and noticing his somewhat glazed expression, asked, "Tim...Tim, what are you doing?"
Following the several seconds it took Tim to realize Jean was speaking to him, he sputtered, "Gee Hon, I'm not sure, I guess I was staring, huh?"
"Yeah, you could say that," Jean mumbled and went back to stabbing at the three remaining peas on her plate...