(no subject)
Being in the body of some random, kind of skeezy guy was a lot like going through grief. There stages involved and while there were considerably fewer dead bodies (thank God), it pretty much the same thing.
First, there was the ‘oh my God’ stage, which she had run through pretty fast, followed by the ‘I need about three drinks and four cigarettes’ stage, which was equally easily accomplished due to the fact that if the schlub didn’t have taste, he certainly did know what mattered in a crisis. Then of course, there was ‘God, how has he been living like this?’ phase, which generally involved her being grossed out by his clothes, his hair, his hut, and pretty much everything. That stage had involved her getting over the fact that she was in the body of some random guy and going up to the compound, where she fought with the clothes box until it gave her something suitable, and then setting to work.
One hour later, and she had showered (eyes closed naturally, because there were some things she just never wanted to see and forty-year-old unhealthy slovenly manabs were one of them), shaved, clipped his nails, manscaped his face, and of course, cut his hair. In fact, this guy looked about a million times better due to her. Like a whole new person and the day wasn’t even over.
God, she was a miracle worker. She should start reading to blind children or something. She was just that good. All of this, called for a celebratory drink and enough carbs and fats to kill a man, before she got to work on the next stage.
“This is kind of fun,” she said to herself.
[find blair as the new&improved gideon anywhere in the compound (from bathroom to kitchen).]
First, there was the ‘oh my God’ stage, which she had run through pretty fast, followed by the ‘I need about three drinks and four cigarettes’ stage, which was equally easily accomplished due to the fact that if the schlub didn’t have taste, he certainly did know what mattered in a crisis. Then of course, there was ‘God, how has he been living like this?’ phase, which generally involved her being grossed out by his clothes, his hair, his hut, and pretty much everything. That stage had involved her getting over the fact that she was in the body of some random guy and going up to the compound, where she fought with the clothes box until it gave her something suitable, and then setting to work.
One hour later, and she had showered (eyes closed naturally, because there were some things she just never wanted to see and forty-year-old unhealthy slovenly manabs were one of them), shaved, clipped his nails, manscaped his face, and of course, cut his hair. In fact, this guy looked about a million times better due to her. Like a whole new person and the day wasn’t even over.
God, she was a miracle worker. She should start reading to blind children or something. She was just that good. All of this, called for a celebratory drink and enough carbs and fats to kill a man, before she got to work on the next stage.
“This is kind of fun,” she said to herself.
[find blair as the new&improved gideon anywhere in the compound (from bathroom to kitchen).]