La Poulette

Tastes like chicken.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Hence my inexplicable craving for a shot of Cointreau.

Count three doors to my left and you will find the office of a Russian colleague. A pretty big boned blonde, with masses of bouncy curls, somewhat bulging blue eyes and a tan that seems to grow a deeper shade of orange with each passing day. It struck me as only mildly artificial at first but by yesterday I could no longer bring myself to look her way, as usually happens when faced with someone sporting a hideous disfigurement. Give her an airport traffic controler's fluorescent orange suit and her face will blend right in. Pass her a tangerine popsicle and you will be hard pressed to notice it against the background of her day-glo skin. Were I altruistically so inclined and courageous enough to look her squarely in the face, it would do my heart much good to place a warm hand over her shoulder and have us a little heart-to-heart about the pros and cons of self-tanning and the value of taking all things in moderation.
Has to be said though, it does bring out those baby blues.


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