I got the flamingo out around noon today, and she's out there now shining her pink lights over the newly fallen snow. There is no palm tree accompanying her as in the past because I just can't carry the darned thing by myself. I made it too well. We're supposed to get 12-14" of snow by the time the storm ends tomorrow night. I am not looking forward to driving in it and getting it off the driveway. Why can't it just snow on the grass?
December 8--Jules Cheret, Ice Palace, Champs-Elysees, Paris. Stripes of red and gold made her skirt look like it swirled even when she held still. The golden fur trim was supposed to keep her warm but it was so heavy that it upset her delicate balance and her feet slid out from under her and down she went. She was not happy. The fur (fox perhaps?) matched her short cape with its collar that she wore turned up so that the softness of it caressed her cheek and jaw, but the hairs kept getting stuck to her lipstick making her frown and spit. Not very ladylike at all. Her hat was a black confection of ruffles and feathers with an important bow made to match her red and gold striped skirt. She fastened it on with a hatpin that would have served as a handy weapon if she needed one. It only took one circuit of the rink, one graceful oval before she caught the eye of Lord Henri du Nord, the wealthiest of the boulevardiers, and she could let him unlace the cursed skates that made her ankles ache. Then they would spend a charming hour or two flirting over cups of hot cocoa laced with a touch of peppermint liqueur.
I like her clothes and I'm interested in how shallow she is, but I don't even know her name. I'll have to put a star beside this one to maybe play with another time when I don't have deadlines to meet.
--Barbara
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