elliot-wolf - March 26, 2018
Pamela Anderson aged finer than some wine sitting in a wealthy man’s cellar somewhere in Saint-Tropez. The only language I want to speak to Pamela is love since she managed to stay more alluring than the lifestyles lived by those in the French Riviera after all these years. If I had the disposable income I’d escape with Anderson to the south of France without question. Then we could eventually make our way over to the Eiffel as I show her the time of her life. She’d be the perfect compliment to a sunset at the top of the tower in addition to being the perfect companion to eat a Parisian diner with. I would undoubtedly have a hard time pronouncing everything on the menu that’s not translated to English but I’d still keep my confidence around such an attractive woman. I’d smile and continue to say oui to everything as it is only French word I know. Either that will lead to Pam being impressed or an accidental order of escargot.
But my mumbling over words I don’t understand wouldn’t matter because we would already be in love by then. I’d whisper things in her ear like she means more to me than the complimentary basket of baguettes at the table. I’d make it clear to her that while both her and the bread at the table are hot and smell nice, there’s only one Pamela.
Photo Credit: Splash News / Pacific Coast News / Backgrid USA
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