Hattie 03
yospyn
I cannot believe I’m doing this again! I swear to God this is the last time. Thirty minutes more, and I can go back to school, or back to London, or perhaps just back to bed. Yeah, I’d like to be under the covers with a nice cuppa, a good book, or even better, a good man, like that guy I met last week on my flight to Bali for that ridiculous swimsuit shoot. The way he looked me in the eye, like he totally knew me. I mean I saw myself in his eyes. For real.
What the? Is this guy kidding me? Angry? It’s much too early in the day to do angry. To do angry, I need to be angry, which I wasn’t really (just bored and disgusted maybe — mainly with myself) until about five minutes ago when that girl with the mohawk — the so-called photographer’s assistant — made that snide comment about my freckles. My agent specifically said they wanted freckles! A light smattering across the cheekbones and nose, and, if possible, just a hint across the shoulders. I mean, that’s a quote! Olive green eyes. Hair like Lancelot’s Genevieve. A full bottom lip, a perfectly imperfect nose, just slightly off-center. I’ve got the look. Obviously. Alrighty then, here’s angry. How’s that?
God, am I bored.
Hattie!
Oh shit! Sorry ’bout that. Must have drifted off for a sec. Can’t believe I did that. Even with all these lights. But it is early. No! I wasn’t out clubbing last night. Promise! Befuddled? Sure, I can do befuddled. That’s an easy one. Befuddled is my natural state. Can’t you tell? Show a bit of teeth, raise the eyebrows just a tick, look straight into the camera. And whatever you do, don’t blink!
What’s that? Say again? Beautifully befuddled? Oh, please. Don’t make me blush.
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