I feel disturbed. My perfectly accessorised and ladylike colleague asked aloud why the client kept looking at me during our meeting this morning. She should be puzzled alright. With her porcelain skin, womanly scent and super-tight super-high-slit skirt, why would anyone even notice I exist? (this is stated matter-of-factly and not oozing with too much jealousy)
Unless, 2006 marks the beginning of a long-awaited era where:
(1) Flabby is the new slim.
(2) Ambiguously bisexual is the new rugged.
Or he could just be staring at the pre-menstrual big-ass zit on my forehead.
Nevertheless, a little attention from an attractively available (and rich) opposite sex does plenty good to the self-esteem (and takes my mind off the zit).
I hate Mondays. Especially when I sleep at 4am on Sunday. Because the zits will invade. And my radar will be kaput and not sense someone attractive signalling.
Unless, 2006 marks the beginning of a long-awaited era where:
(1) Flabby is the new slim.
(2) Ambiguously bisexual is the new rugged.
Or he could just be staring at the pre-menstrual big-ass zit on my forehead.
Nevertheless, a little attention from an attractively available (and rich) opposite sex does plenty good to the self-esteem (and takes my mind off the zit).
I hate Mondays. Especially when I sleep at 4am on Sunday. Because the zits will invade. And my radar will be kaput and not sense someone attractive signalling.
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