I think it was Donald Mainstock, the great amateur squash player, who pointed out how lovely I was. Until that point I think it is safe to say that I was never really aware of my own timeless brand of loveliness. But of course, you see, I am lovely, in a fluffy, moist kind of way.
I walk, let's be splendid about it, in a lightly-scented cloud of gorgeousness, that is quite simply terrific.
The secret of smooth, almost shiny loveliness doesn't reside in oils, balms, ointments, milks, creams, astringents, moisturisers, lubricants, or balsems, to be rather divine for just one noble moment. It resides, and I mean this in a pink, slightly special way, in one's attitude of mind.
To be gorgeous and fine and true and high and fluffy and moist and sticky and lovely, all you have to do is to believe that you are gorgeous and fine and true and high and fluffy and moist and sticky and lovely, and I believe it of myself. Tremulously at first, and then with mounting heat and passion because, stopping off for a second to be super again, because I'm so often told it. And that's the secret, really.
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