Nice Coat.... Who Ran Over It?
Winter arrived yesterday.
I know that because I had to buy some gloves off a street vendor, this time the man didn't ask me to breed with him, which was perhaps a little disappointing.
This is a dull blog topic I know...
So I will tell you about my subway ride back to Brooklyn later that night.
Me and Sam are on the 2 train cruising under Manhattan when we are lucky enough to get a seat that happened to be across the car from this woman who totally hypnotized me.
Why?
First thing that got me was the hat on her head that looked like two mating mammals, I felt like laying down a bowl of milk for it, and then there was her coat, expensive caveman/roadkill chic. What really got me however was the amazing surgical retrofitting.
First it was the lips. I am talking serious hardcore implant action, I wanted to lean across the carriage and kiss her just to see what they would feel like. Wrinkle free almond shaped peepers with cheekbones that looked prosthetic in their perfection.
I wanted to run my hands all over her face, that smooth smooth face.
Smoother than mine and she must have been close to 50, if not over.
She wasn't beautiful, though the sum of her parts should have made her so. The volumptuous lips, the cat eyes, the distinguished cheekbones. Somewhere along the line to beauty she overstepped it and was in a different realm entirely.
Hyperbeauty.
When true Beauty just isn't enough.
I started to get the giggles, I had never really seen that kind of thing upclose under the harsh light of the subway.
The weirdest thing was that I felt sorry for her. An odd reaction to this outrageously wealthy woman, her clothing reeked of $$$$, the rings on her fingers, the bag that perched on her pilate legs. Everything about her screamed cash.
Who was I to feel sorry for her? What? Because she must have poor self image... Who am I to suggest that. Maybe that makes me feel better, to think that she must be devoid of something to crave such adjustments, her wealth not enough to fill her empty, hungry soul. Perhaps I am just jealous and arrogant, eager to pass judgement.
Maybe she does it with a sense of whimsy, laughing at her own rhinoplasty with her mates of champagne at Sunday brunches...
I did like her boots though.
I know that because I had to buy some gloves off a street vendor, this time the man didn't ask me to breed with him, which was perhaps a little disappointing.
This is a dull blog topic I know...
So I will tell you about my subway ride back to Brooklyn later that night.
Me and Sam are on the 2 train cruising under Manhattan when we are lucky enough to get a seat that happened to be across the car from this woman who totally hypnotized me.
Why?
First thing that got me was the hat on her head that looked like two mating mammals, I felt like laying down a bowl of milk for it, and then there was her coat, expensive caveman/roadkill chic. What really got me however was the amazing surgical retrofitting.
First it was the lips. I am talking serious hardcore implant action, I wanted to lean across the carriage and kiss her just to see what they would feel like. Wrinkle free almond shaped peepers with cheekbones that looked prosthetic in their perfection.
I wanted to run my hands all over her face, that smooth smooth face.
Smoother than mine and she must have been close to 50, if not over.
She wasn't beautiful, though the sum of her parts should have made her so. The volumptuous lips, the cat eyes, the distinguished cheekbones. Somewhere along the line to beauty she overstepped it and was in a different realm entirely.
Hyperbeauty.
When true Beauty just isn't enough.
I started to get the giggles, I had never really seen that kind of thing upclose under the harsh light of the subway.
The weirdest thing was that I felt sorry for her. An odd reaction to this outrageously wealthy woman, her clothing reeked of $$$$, the rings on her fingers, the bag that perched on her pilate legs. Everything about her screamed cash.
Who was I to feel sorry for her? What? Because she must have poor self image... Who am I to suggest that. Maybe that makes me feel better, to think that she must be devoid of something to crave such adjustments, her wealth not enough to fill her empty, hungry soul. Perhaps I am just jealous and arrogant, eager to pass judgement.
Maybe she does it with a sense of whimsy, laughing at her own rhinoplasty with her mates of champagne at Sunday brunches...
I did like her boots though.
posted by D. at Thursday, December 16, 2004
