You know those waspish looks some women
shoot at you, like you’re a week’s growth on a Petrie dish? Or from another planet?
not from around here, are you?” queried Babette the Beach Babe, baring
her teeth and narrowing her eyes to complement her bare and narrow
Synymyn Rousseau doesn’t fit the Southern California image, and, just between you and me, any
attempt to do so would be futile.
I’m from Back East,” she replied with a shy smile, and was favored with
a knowing nod. Yep, that explains it, Babette’s flared nostrils seemed
What stamped Synymyn incontrovertibly stand-outish?
Porcelain skin (amazingly freckle-free)
belied her achievement of a certain age. Flaming
hair exploded from her scalp, rendering her (and countless hardy
hairdressers) helpless in its red wake. After years of futile
attempts to domesticate the turbulent tresses, she had ultimately
surrendered to a Bad Hair Life.
Moving on, one noted her unstylish lack
of lip rings, nose bones, and other quirky piercings.
All the holes in her head were blessedly God given.
men had been stopped in their tracks at first glance.
Bimbo-browsing types, on the one hand, rapidly lost interest.
After a surreptitious look over, an eye avert immediately ensued as her
lack of Babe potential became evident.
hip-high or fanny-cramping skirts captured the curious gaze.
Having never mastered the art of hair flinging or butt swinging (her
hair refused to “fling,” and bitty butts don’t swing), she also lacked
the fore-and-aft cleavage revealage required to catapult her to Status: Hot. Even toe cleavage
remained demurely concealed.
the other hand, Synymyn left the more timid of the male species
cowering, intimidated by the paradox of her diminutive size yet
larger-than-life “presence.” The Wit That Bit had earned her a
reputation, became her trademark. Confident and self-contained,
she was nobody’s fool, and it showed.
rare occasions, her fragile appearance caused her to be mistaken for
bully bait. Cobra-like, her sharp-edged wit bit to the quick of any
player wanna-be foolish enough to attempt a reel in.
“Don’t you ever smile?” flirtatiously
queried one hopeful contender.
Her ego-crushing response? “Once, but
you missed it.”
an unorthodox name, even by Back East standards. Mom and Dad were
first-time parents basking in “This Magic Moment” of her birth.
Besotted by her baby beauty and after one look at her fuzzy orange
scalp, they took leave of their senses and labeled her a spice.
As if unloading this burdensome epithet
weren’t enough, they decided it would be more clever still to give that
handle a twist: how about a spelling no
one could remember, consisting of 7-for-7 consonants?