10:10 p.m. and it’s raining. Again. With a repeat performance scheduled through tomorrow and into Wednesday. I jes’ washed my hayah and I cain’t do a thang with it. Ah well, I’ve run some serum through it and am preparing to twist it into pincurls for overnight. I may look like the blonde version of Little Orphan Annie tomorrow, but I am staying home anyway. At least it’s clean.
Good news in the midst of the sogginess and possible Bad Hair Day! I got my FAULT magazine today, direct from–Germany?
“You’ve got a package from–Deutsch Post?” Benny said with a quizzical brow raised as he thumbed through the mail tonight (I hadn’t bothered to slog through the puddles to check the box).
I frowned. “Well, it must–the only thing it could be is the magazine.”
His eyes widened. “Ah. That one.” His lip curled just a little. “That cost so much.”
“Yeah,” I said with a slightly sheepish smile. “I’ve been wondering when it would show up.”
I tore open the plastic mailer bag and heaved a sigh of relief I’d already been warned a certain hound dog face puffing a cancer stick might meet my eye at first glance. Otherwise, this girl would have been cursing like Porter on a really bad day, thinking those nasty FAULT people had sent Billy Bob instead of the Divine RA.
Turning the magazine over, I gave a little sigh as I looked into the heavily textured visage of my dear Rich. Mine. At last.
This is my favorite photo. It’s larger in the magazine and those EYES just draw you in. And it happens to be one of two photos with the least amount of photo editing done to them.
I am just not sure you should tamper too much with gloriously imperfect masculine perfection, if you know what I mean–and I think you do.
And now, on to some fedoralady silliness for Monday night. I finally managed to get a few hours of sleep after lunch but I’m still tired and feeling a bit goofy. And here is the result, uber-sexy RA as you’ve never quite seen him before. My apologies to Richard and to Robert Ascroft, the fine photog who took the original photo. Remember, I am sleep-deprived . . . have a lovely night/good morning!
Richard, I don’t that is going to work as a deterrent, dearest.
Oh, yeah, he’s stylin.’
Pip-pip-cheerio, old boy. Where’s your brolly?