1. They wear heels and shimmering clothes. They wear silver bangles and flaunt their slinky necklines that move as they do, fall as they do. And these girls are always falling forward, giggling, pouting, searching in their handbags, looking for gloss. Always leaning forward, one hand on their thigh or knee, shoulders pushed back, perhaps asking for another drink.
Cocktails. That’s what they love. Tall, curvaceous glasses, adorned with sugar rims and wedges of lime, small umbrellas that can be removed and twirled entertainingly above a pretty, painted head. They purse their lips and sip from the straws. A camera is drawn from a sequinned clutch and held at a high angle above their faces. There they go again. They all lean forward, in. They smile.
Flash. The photo highlights their foreheads, their sweeping fringes. Their faces appear triangular, pointed at the chin, and their cheeks are bulbous and bronzed.
Sexy, they say. Bitchin.
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