Pink Ochre Magazine

Let me make a millefeuille of French charm (it is a word used to denote anything that can be piled on anything, and anything that can be sandwiched in anything, to reveal various layers all with intriguing, flavoursome possibilities): First of all, you take the smile of Alice, and then you add the beautiful, blue eyes of Béatrice, to which the gorgeous buck-teeth of Clémentine, and then the exquisitely-carved taille of Delphine, to which you add some effervescent wit of Eugénie, not to forget the delicate, ivory-tipped nose of Florence, and not to forget the long-winded pauses of Géraldine, and to that you sprinkle a shower of Hélène’s eclectic humour, brush it a little with Isabelle’s red curls, shake the whole thing in a covering of Janine's flapping eyelashes, to that you infuse a mixture of Katia’s short-bob and Léonie’s slender figure, wrapped in the very benign bite of the lips of Madeleine, to which you throw a dash of Noémie’s dazed eyes, look at the whole thing from above in the manner of Ophélie’s blond locks, not forgetting now and then to flip both sides just like Pénélope’s shake of the hips as she walks, and then to smother it all with some generous hospitality in the form of Queenie’s supple neck, and then to dust it further with Rachel’s extremely long limbs and Sylvie’s erotic flip of the chin, and then, to all this ensemble, you give three quick bursts of Thérèse’s bewildered expression, and one last round-up of Ursuline’s high-standing chignon, and then the customary last few laps of Valérie’s imposing poitrine, (ma douce, petite Wanda…tu es une mauvaise, tu es restée quatre jours sans m’avoir écrit…) and Xavière’s ambiguity as she stands split between two. Never forget to season with Yolande’s prescience. Serve Zoé-hot.

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