Meeting Marilyn and Jane

We are from the sixties, I am Marilyn, and she is Jane. They are wearing leopard, tightly, and seem a bit insane. We have painted our car appropriately the less smart one says. I have no words for them. They are probably not from any res. We are platinum blondes, Marilyn tells me, as if I am sight-impaired. Sixties songs all the time, says the one whose laundry gets aired. They tell of cheating husbands and the joyful road trip they are on. A few more minutes of chatter, and these tell-alls are away and gone. Did you hear what happened to Jane? I yell as they peel pink car away. Marilyn gives me a happy wave; and they are out of sight that day. They were something! My husband says, winking as if we have a joke. They might be ridiculous, but do not deserve meanness from a bloke.