Dropula
MY TRUE COLOURS
Canary Yellow
SHOE FETISH
It was the call I'd longed-for,
Since the day that I'd left school!
A modelling job that afternoon.
Goodbye to the typing pool!
They asked me to wear a tutu
But my old green one was limp,
So I stuffed the dark blue under it
And then began to primp.
I found some matching stockings,
Knee-highs! What a disgrace!
But my thighs would be under the tutu,
In a thankfully hidden place!
I took such care with my lipstick!
I took my time with my hair.
I sprayed the front bits indigo
And let the rest stay fair.
I tanned myself with lotion
Over legs and arms and chest
And I used some hair remover
On, well, you know 'the rest'.
Who knows what this might lead to?
One shot might lead to more.
I could see myself 'au naturelle'
Draped on a velvet floor!
'Wear high heels' said my Mother,
'Make yourself look tall!'
But I'd only got the yellow ones.
They wouldn't do at all!
And, just as we were arguing,
The taxi blared its horn
And I dashed-out wearing yellow shoes!
Yellow as summer corn!
But I knew 'they' wouldn't notice them
When they saw my poise and style!
I rubbed a tissue over my teeth
To improve my dazzling smile.
'They' looked me over once or twice
Then muttered quite a lot
Finally saying 'We think we might
Try out a cabbage shot!'
'Every picture tells a story';
Something inside me dies
When I see my face is hidden
But they've emphasised my THIGHS!
*
A better outcome here:
http://rinklyrimes.blogspot.com/2009/05/windblown.html
