Every now and again, when I can’t think of the right word, that perfect comeback touche-type of retort that leaves my competition speechless, I go quiet for a moment. All eyes–the spectators, the moderator, the judge, my Correctional Officer (yeah Marcus, you wish)–are on me. I think for a second and go back in my head to a quiet, calm spot. A location so safe and so comfortable I can easily find my way around at no effort. A vision so familiar and loving that I am once again able find the strength to summon my inner bitch, and silence my opponent. That location, of course, is Michael Phelps’s abs.
With the Olympics fading into memory, I am beginning to bid adieu to Phelps’s abs. (Sigh)…. Who knows when and how I will see them again. Most likely the Vatican will dip into their “Bail-A-Priest Trust Fund” and buy him out of Kellog and use his face on their Christmas mass eucharist, now that the U.S. has put him on their Endangered Species list, but until then, I must find my the drive within to proceed solo. Which is why last Thursday I went to Aniko Salon and Spa‘s event to benefit the Chicago Fashion Foundation. Watching Aniko Salon stylists transform the models using body paint (which, as you may have guessed, further reminded me of my paramour), while listening to live music provided by DJ Jason Wolfe, sipping on cocktails, and nipple… I mean nibbling (right, nibbling) on hors d’ouevres, was just what any fun-loving Chicagoan could use these days. Well, at least short of napping on Michael Phelps’ abs.
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