For some strange and mad reason, several friends email me pictures of the Hoff on a regular basis. I have no idea why.
I never fancied him, well... maybe a bit as Michael Knight. Which is maybe why I was so disappointed when I went to Universal and saw that KITT in fact had an automatic transmission.
And was a Pontiac.
Trans Am.
Somehow between here and there it just got oh so uncool.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Monday, September 05, 2005
I should have been a nun
Frankly, dating is exhausting.
The preparation itself: the make up application, getting the hair to that just tousled perfection, the waxing, shaving, tweezing. The choosing of the right perfume, the not eating for days to get that smooth taut stomach, packing in several additional hours at the gym, the sunbed, and then deliberation on what to wear.
For me, the choice is simple. A little black dress but then... What necklace? What earrings, what rings? What colour nail varnish? What colour wrap, and how to wear it, around the neck, around the shoulders? Should it match the handbag?
And then, the shoes. It's raining, it's not! High heels, flats (never on a date, darling!), stilettos? Sandals? The new glorious pumps in pink, or black? And then the breaking in of said shoes so you can walk gracefully and elegantly and not be crippled by blisters.
Oh, the pressure!
Clean teeth, and body completely pinched, perfumed, waxed, tweezed, bronzed, toned, taut...
The preparation itself: the make up application, getting the hair to that just tousled perfection, the waxing, shaving, tweezing. The choosing of the right perfume, the not eating for days to get that smooth taut stomach, packing in several additional hours at the gym, the sunbed, and then deliberation on what to wear.
For me, the choice is simple. A little black dress but then... What necklace? What earrings, what rings? What colour nail varnish? What colour wrap, and how to wear it, around the neck, around the shoulders? Should it match the handbag?
And then, the shoes. It's raining, it's not! High heels, flats (never on a date, darling!), stilettos? Sandals? The new glorious pumps in pink, or black? And then the breaking in of said shoes so you can walk gracefully and elegantly and not be crippled by blisters.
Oh, the pressure!
Clean teeth, and body completely pinched, perfumed, waxed, tweezed, bronzed, toned, taut...
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