My Fire-Proof Smile
Do you remember that time a few weeks ago when I said I’d bought a race car?
Well, I also bought a race suit to go with it. I had to: you can’t drive in a rally unless you’re wearing a fire-proof suit. I had to have it specially made by an Italian man who said that he would change the measurements to fit my “developments.”*
*(He meant my boobs). (Although they stopped developing awhile ago).
The suit was waiting for me when I got home from tour and I was forced to try it on at once. It fit a like a glove, where “glove” is “garment that encloses your entire body and protects it from the burning flames of your poor vehicular decision-making.”
I have a helmet, too. Now I just need to sort out what I’m going to wear on my feet. Lover, who’s also racing next year, bought fire-proof underwear. I don’t know if I’m going to do that. I sort of feel like if everything else is up in flames, I won’t be so bothered about the undercarriage** going as well, if you get my drift. I really think it’s just shoes I need to track down. Between that and my fire-proof smile, what else could I possibly require?
**I mean my boobs.
I realize this post makes it sound like all rally cars do is catch on fire. That’s not really true. Mostly they run into things or roll over or slide into crap and get ugly, but there is no preventative for ugly. Fireproof suit, yes. Uglyproof suit? That is for scientific humans to discover in a hopeful and beautiful future.
What a proud moment this is.***
***This is the finest photograph that has ever been taken of me.
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