La Poulette

Tastes like chicken.

Friday, October 07, 2005

Crack open a can o' Fanta, cause it's officially my orange week.

So I'm indulging in an increasingly rare Friday afternoon past-time (shopping) and I decide to check out the menswear section of the store I'm in for gift potential. Of all things a pair of slippers catches my eye (let's never talk about this again and file it under a moment of temporary insanity) and I'm just about to put them back on the rack when a tall figure blocks my way. I look up and there's Archie himself: flaming orange hair, translucent skin and eyelashes, all tall, lanky and comic. His limbs are all over the place but he's gazing at me earnestly from behind a pair of plastic prescription glasses. I notice that he's just pulled on a sweater from the store since the price tag hangs of the sleeve and while all these thoughts are coursing through my brain I hear him ask in French "Excuse me, what do you think of this sweater? Does it fit me well, do I look OK?". Too startled by this stranger soliciting my fashion opinion (has to be said, he came to the right place!) I stutter back "oui, c'est joli!", which is the only phrase that comes to mind, although upon closer inspection, I'm not all that sure. It's bright orange (he must have picked it out to coordinate with his hair) with thin brown horizontal stripes running across. It does have that Jarvis Cocker geek chic potential, if only it weren't worn by a geek. Because on this guy it's all geek, no chic (and borderline freak). He beams with delight at this news but apparently I wasn't enthusiastic enough for his liking. "So you really like it, it's not just, like, whatever, right?" At this point it's too late for me to backtrack so I decide to stick with my original opinion. Besides, I was slightly flattered that he'd pick me as his impromptu fashion advisor. "Pas du tout, moi j'aime bien!" I assure him as his pale face lights up and he walks away satisfied. I continue shopping halfheartedly, but the episode leaves me restless. Because what I'd really like to do is get up on my tippy toes, pat the poor sod on the head in a reassuring motion and tell him honey, save yourself the pennies. That hot date you're preparing yourself for? If she's willing to overlook those translucent eyebrows, the endless limbs and lo, even risk getting poked and jabbed by all those protruding bones of yours, why, I'm sure you can just throw on any old thing and she'll love you just as you are. But hey! Thanks for asking.


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