Sunday, May 09, 2004
So I'm approaching the Chanel counter, a bit flustered, 'cause I'm in a hurry, having spent 45 minutes inhaling perfumes and losing my general sense of smell. I'm pretty sure what I want, since I've lingered earlier, but there's no sales girl to approach.
I hang around for a bit.
Finally, slowly, a tall blond girl appears, one of those girls who at first glance look quite pretty and glamorous, but at closer inspection turns out to be quite plain looking, but also quite shiny, which can be deceptive. (Other girls in this category are: all the Atomic Kittens, most British TV presenters, espcially those who present music/youth programmes - except Miquita, whom I adore - the blond Spice Girl, quite a few of the girls I went to school with).
Sales girl looks at me.
I smile (hopefully in a friendly way, although I am in a hurry and just need that bloody product now) and ask for the Orient red. She looks up and down at me for about 30 seconds, with a smile that can mean a) 'buying Chanel with our last savings, are we?' or b) 'right, 'cause you're stylish enough to wear Chanel (not)!'
I consider ripping her hair off, but don't as I really need to catch my plane.
There's a famous Danish football player getting on the same plane, which excites the airport staff no end.
Then there's the, uhm, gig, in honour of the impending, goddam wedding and in spite of it all, I go all mushy when one of the heroes of my youth turns up on stage and looks just as lovely and sings just as sweet as he used to do.
I hang around for a bit.
Finally, slowly, a tall blond girl appears, one of those girls who at first glance look quite pretty and glamorous, but at closer inspection turns out to be quite plain looking, but also quite shiny, which can be deceptive. (Other girls in this category are: all the Atomic Kittens, most British TV presenters, espcially those who present music/youth programmes - except Miquita, whom I adore - the blond Spice Girl, quite a few of the girls I went to school with).
Sales girl looks at me.
I smile (hopefully in a friendly way, although I am in a hurry and just need that bloody product now) and ask for the Orient red. She looks up and down at me for about 30 seconds, with a smile that can mean a) 'buying Chanel with our last savings, are we?' or b) 'right, 'cause you're stylish enough to wear Chanel (not)!'
I consider ripping her hair off, but don't as I really need to catch my plane.
There's a famous Danish football player getting on the same plane, which excites the airport staff no end.
Then there's the, uhm, gig, in honour of the impending, goddam wedding and in spite of it all, I go all mushy when one of the heroes of my youth turns up on stage and looks just as lovely and sings just as sweet as he used to do.
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