Let's call Number 1 Miss Yekaterinburg. Because she will never be Miss Moscow. Or even Miss Kiev. Maybe Miss Chicken Kiev. Oh, that was good. Sometimes I even impress myself. Her name is probably Svetlana. I like Svetlana. And her sister Ylena.
Svetlana and Ylena. The two Russian (I guess it was Russian. Whatever they were speaking was guttural, not German-ish and they sure as hell didn't look Swedish) chicks wandered in off the street. Quite possibly, LITERALLY off the street. You never know these days.
I'm not doing much, just browsing the net and catching up on my favorite Web comic - Questionable Content - when I see Svetlana fluffing her coat.
This coat is a thing of wonder. White puff leather (probably pleather) with a hood - a hood LINED IN FUR - and sleeveless. Let's recap that one. A white, sleeveless leather coat with a fur-lined hood. Can we possibly get much more impractical? How about a coat made out of Twizzlers? Or candy corn? Let's note that we are starting to approach Lady GaGa territory here.
Under this - and I don't see this until she turns around - she's wearing a god-awful contraption that looks like a boob sling. Except that each half of the sling is a different color. The left boob has a black boob sling and the right boob has a white boob sling. There's a strip of fabric around the back of her neck and another at the small of her back. That's pretty much it.
They don't meet AT ALL until somewhere about two inches above her navel. To quote the Fug Girls, "Skin is not a shirt!" I don't know whether this is fashion or just random pieces of fabric strung together in an approximation of clothing. That is the entirety of her top.
The bottom isn't much better - just a pair of black tights worn without anything over them, like, say, maybe a skirt or shorts or anything. No. Just tights. Great. A Lindsay Lohan impersonator, as the Fug Girls would say.
Here's the kicker. She's wearing bright, bright, BRIGHT, as in eye-searing, aquamarine, Easter egg-dye blue socks. These I notice as she kicks off her shoes and rests her feet on the pestilence-ridden floor of the Starbucks, which people have trod on all day, with THEIR pestilence-ridden feet. Have these fools never heard of swine flu? MRSA? Viral nasopharyngitis, acute viral rhinopharyngitis or plain old GOOD HYGIENE?
Ylena was nearly as bad. SHE was wearing a Juicy Couture velour special. Have you ever been in a Juicy Couture outlet? It is acres and acres of velour! This one was a travesty to behold. The bottom was crimson, with JUICY written across the buttocks in those faux Swarovski crystals that they use. It wasn't even a really juicy pair of buttocks. I mean, if Ylena's rear end was a turkey, it would have had to have been basted every 10 minutes. Girlfriend had no meat on those bones. She was not working the Russian peasant look at all.
Her top regions were clad in the other half of some other Juicy Couture velour track suit - in aquamarine. Was this some trend? I don't know if she was trying for something, or one half was dirty, of if this was just the style. Crimson and Aquamarine. It is the hot new band from the Continent. They're replacing Tatu! You heard it here first!
The Russian sisters (who knows?) stood and hemmed and hawwed at the pastry case. Obviously, nothing in there was good enough for the descendants of the Grand Duchess Anastasia. Then they moved on to the cold case. I swear I actually heard a *sniff* at one point. This from two girls wearing velour pants and tights as pants. Really chicas, really.
They point. They stare. They jabber. The barista, Tall Tina if you're keeping score, first waits patiently, then starts scrubbing pots, finishes that, then goes and drags some boxes of Christmas tumblers out of the back room and starts unpacking them onto the bare shelves. I really don't understand this urge to be doing the Christmas shopping at Starbucks. Who knew it was a Black Friday hot spot for something other than coffee?
What do they get after all this? A tall coffee and a plastic bottle of orange juice.
They wedge themselves into a chair not four feet from me, where Svetlana does the un-shod thing and plays footsie with about ten thousand germs on the floor in her aquamarine socks and then REALLY launch into it.
I have ZERO idea what is being said, but it was something good.
Tall Tina is making frappuccinos, which every Starbucks denize will know involves use of a blender. Svetlana doesn't let that stop her. Every time the blender goes up a notch, she cranks it up two decibels. When Little Apron Aaron starts up the coffee grinder for some yuppie hag in a black skirt and black cardigan (and probably starched black cotton underpants), she goes up three notches.
Svetlana could probably have screamed down a jackhammer going through the rubble of the the Winter Palace; she's a one-woman perestroika wrecking crew and woe betide the Politburo that got in HER way.
Ylena wasn't much quieter. Every decibel of Svetlana's was matched by one of her own. It was shriek and leap, shriek and leap - well, more like shriek, squeak and slurp, shriek, squeak and slurp. And that is not as nasty as it sounds. They yammer on for a while until someone comes in asking about a car with its lights on - which turns out to be Svetlana's.
She jumps up, AGAIN puts her sock-clad feet on the floor and fishes around for her shoes.
... and off into the night they go, the word JUICY sparkling in subtle fiery radiance across Ylena's buttocks as they vanished into the night.
1 comments:
Why no pictures here? Come on, Silk.
@NBC2
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