Ms. LoveLove-Lahore

Listen to this: the woman was over six feet tall, and slimmer than your average person sliced sideways. Her long torso narrowed to a tiny waist, then flattened out to hips square and pointy as the edges of a picture frame. Her breasts were like pancakes. Every detail of her daily ensemble was ivory, eggshell, milk-light. She wore diaphanous white muslin blouses with never a bra, and one could glimpse the barely bulge of her pancake breasts – but in your face were the prominent knobs of her bitsy nipples. White seersucker slacks hung long and loose, beachy-wise, over her barely hips. On her feet: white espadrille platforms (four inches of coiled jute rope)…because she needed to sway in the wind like a too-quickly-grown poplar, to look down upon the balding heads of men, and laugh convincingly at their quaintness. White bug sunglasses and derby hats (prodigiously-brimmed) shielded her from the summer sun. When she wore jewels, they were long ropes of white beads. Only her lips flouted this harsh reign of achromaticity; they flashed neon pink. She had skin the color of palest butter, and hair the color of bleached driftwood. Her name was Antonia Lavariti LoveLove-Lahore.

~ by kingzoko on September 18, 2013.

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