Thursday, November 02, 2006
I wish I were a polar bear. They seriously have everything going for them; fur, claws, teeth... They only wear white and even when that gets stained, they have discovered some magic dust far above the prestige Vanish offers to get rid of those stains, leaving their coats brilliantly white. The real McCoy. They never need mascara or eye liner because their windows to the world are as deep as the blackest night. They don't need gloss or lippy because they have their steak rare, actually not even rare, rather raw, all the time. Their lips are black yet no one accuses them of being gothlike or antisocial. Their bad manners are applauded and sent round the world, their right to annoyance and violence protected and their glutoney sated. They swim, fish, surf on snow and slide down ice. They sleep for half their lifetime and are sufficiently updated with omega 3. We've not heard anyone complain of their fishy breath because, if they did, they probably wouldn't live to tell the tale. They lumber and no one says, "Walk upright," they growl and no one says, "Behave." They swipe with their paws, irritated at some non existant housefly and no one says, "Patience." They see killer whales and leopard seals and penguins. It would be grand to live the life of a polar bear and be a real snow queen.