Clomping Through the NPG

   Three gangly, teenage American girls spread out and clomped around the wooden floors of the National Portrait Gallery in their chunky boot heels, loudly calling out to each other about the portraits in the Elizabethan rooms.
    "Lookit this guy! He's so cool! Look at his beard. So hipster. I LOVE it!"
    "Oh wow! This woman is, like, ancient. Check out that bling!"
    "He's, like, a king or some shit! Lookit his hat!" I sought to escape them by slipping into another room, but they followed me in. This room contained a group of young schoolchildren who were sitting on the floor quietly listening to a lady Gallery guide explain to them the beautiful portrait of Henry IV. The three girls seemed completely oblivious to this, and they edged around the room still shouting out their observations on the people in the paintings.
    "Gahd! that looks like that dude in that movie, you know who I mean?"
    "Holy crap! Imagine how heavy that would be! Crazy, right?!" The Gallery woman paused and waited patiently until they had finished with their running commentary. The small children sat, quiet as mice, as the girls went from one superb ancient painting to another, cutting each picture down to size with an offhand remark. There was some relief for all of us when they moved into the next room. I felt as though an important piece of my psyche had been ripped from me and thrown on the wooden floor, where, even now, the clomp, clomp, clomping of their chunky boot-heels could be heard ricocheting just below their braying voices as they meandered away through each subsequent room.

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