Today, boys and girls, we're going to play a different game. (No, not the good kind. Get your mind out of the gutter. There's only room in here for one.)
So, Adorable British Girl started this little game, see? The rules go like this: She posted five questions in my guest book, of which I'm going to answer shortly. Then there's some linkage involved, between me moviegrrl. (Oh stop that. Not that kind of linkage, you dirty birdies!) Then I ask you if you want to play. (No, not Doctor. Once and for all, we're not playing Doctor! Well... maybe with you over there. You're kinda cute. And I look fetching in a nurse's uniform.) Anyway, if you want to play, you leave me a note in my guest book saying so. Then I’ll pose you five questions, and you’ll answer them in your diary. And that's the name of the game. Ok? Ok? So, here we go.
1. If you could be a film star pin-up, who would you be?
Oh, God, probably Ava Gardner, with her lush curves and her scarlet lips, and her affair with Frank Sinatra. I want to be able to say Grace Kelly, because of her regal carriage and prep school princess look, but somehow, I can’t imagine Princess Grace as someone you’d pin up on a wall. No, Ava it is. Sex in a mink coat. That’s who I want to be when I grow up. In modern day girls, I’d have to say Nicole Kidman, because she’s got a good mix of ice queen allure and sex goddess at the same time.
2. I’m down and disheartened – what would you cook for me?
You’re down and disheartened, hmm? Then you need to be indulged. Let’s start with a cool and perfect martini before dinner, hm? Something to whet the palate is necessary, I’d think. Then we’ll start with bruschetta – the crispiest Italian bread with the freshest tomatoes, and real garlic. I simply don’t use that icky garlic powder stuff. It keeps coming back, and not in the good way. Then, just for fun, I’ll have ready for you a selection of appetisers, from which you will be encouraged to eat a lot of everything. If we’re gonna make you feel better, we’re gonna do it right. Prosciutto wrapped around slices of fresh cantaloup; tiny bocconcini sliced onto tomatos with Spanish onions and olive oil; roasted peppers that you don’t want to use a fork for, but rather just scoop up with crusty Italian bread. Slivers of Asiago or Brie, on Melba. Oh Lordy. Right. Onto the main meal. If you’re one who can handle dairy and such, tortellini in a cream sauce is a sure thing. It’s rich and sinful and will send all those happy endorphiny things to your brain. If you want something with a tomato base, there’s nothing better than an eggplant parmigiana – three inches thick, and about the size of a giant’s hand. Hm. Or maybe roast lamb with a mint sauce… with baby roasted potatoes, and glazed carrots, and… or, wait! What about the original and perfect and true lasagna? Again, three inches thick, with layer upon layer of noodle and tomato and spinach and béchamel sauce, and drizzled over again with even more tomato sauce and cheese… Onto dessert, we go. A crème caramel is in order, I think. Or maybe a crème brulee? Or… mmm… how about a tart lemon ice for a refresher after that meal? Oh God. I’m sorry. I obviously don’t know what to feed you. I just can’t think of anything.
3. What’s your favourite ‘getting away from it all’ fantasy?
Well, for the longest time during Operation: Mini-skirt, my biggest fantasy included a locked door and a bathtub full of chocolate covered raisins. Hey, we all have our moments of desperation. Or depravity. Whatever. But mostly, I’d love to be able to wake up one morning and say, “Hm. I feel like going to Germany today. Or, I feel like visiting my cousins in Italy this weekend.” And then, just being able to pay for it without having to weigh the pros and cons of spending the money, and being able to jet off at a moment’s notice without shirking responsibilities… gosh, that’d be nice.
4. You’ve got unlimited cash. What’s your first completely frivolous purchase?
A six-month stay at a spa that will make me beautiful. No question. Although I don’t know if I’d count that as frivolous.
5. You know you’re just ‘too funky’ for me, don’t you?
Funky? You know, as much as I try, I suspect that I’m too tailored, too old fashioned, too frightened to really be funky. The true essence of funky, anyway.
And that’s it, poppets. Now, who wants to play? Go on. You know you want to.
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