Thursday, 3 February 2011

Furry Chow Mein

Fifty inch long lashes, nine inch heels, she batted her eyes as she turned the lipstick over to check the shade....Fornicating Fuschia. Just her pink. She pouted as she blotted her lips on the napkin of a chic night club from the night before. She turned it over and poured out the foundation rendering the phone number illegible and proceeded to her nose and cheeks. She couldn't remember his name and couldn't remember hers by the time they were through. It had been hot, but she attributed it to her biorythym rather than his cologne which was the invisible "No" that made it a one nighter.  "You can't tell men how to wear their cologne,"  she thought. "Men who wear cologne don't deserve to know."

Her eyelids would be blue today with a hint of green around the corners, a pale shimmering pearl just under the brow and some thick wet eye liner to knock them out. Earrings small pearl studs to fit the task at hand, she was nearly done....with her face. Now it was time to dress. She had ruined many an outfit with loose powder. Much better to apply it topless.

"There she is, my cleaner with her seventies porn star make up," he thought to himself as they met in the lift. She had cleaned for him for years. He'd never call her anything but Elena. She dressed like Marlene Dietrich and came with a small rolling suitcase which contained her products and her uniform. People would think she had just stepped off the plane, then again, she was on a very different plane.

The neighbors liked to think he was having an affair. Not something they could add to their petition to remove him, but something juicy to add to his list of misbehaviours. He needed his hair cut. He was just too bohemian for their block. Yes, they had moved in on the bohemians, but it was time they were out.

She looked in his fridge. A loaf of moldy taste the difference bread sat fermenting next to a bottle of Muscatel. A half-eaten tin of mixed veg. It jarred her nerves....worse than frozen. There was evidence of an attempted culinary suicide chow mein style as the brown bean sprouts floated in a slimey fluid with the miserable mixed veg. Dead man's cum. Why didn't he just throw it away? The contents of his fridge were always entertaining.  She'd get dressed first, then start the cleaning. 

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