Lampade e docce solari sono certamente meschine e volgari e lontane da qualsiasi anche pallida idea di buon gusto. L’abbronzatura spray, invece, la definirei patetica. Sì, patetica: non è antipatica come un trifacciale, non è cafona come un lettino solar, but it's so ridiculous to be done tenderly. And 'the clumsy way in which Paris Hilton is awkward when you stretch the neck in front of photographers to hide the double chin, the manner in which it is the statement "oh no, I broke a nail!" (Without detracting of course, to the discomfort that accompanies such an incident). I never told this morning in which, sure to win a holiday appearance, I went, alas confident in a tanning center, to try her, "spray". If any of you ever had the same sock idea, know that after the spraying should be avoided for six long hours of washing. Well, leave the center, I head to the parking lot, I take the car, and drive, can not remember why, up to a certain country road, to find myself, having turned in the wrong direction-into an alley, I suppose private, leading to a semi-protected by two ferocious dogs. My sister is beside me asking me yelling expletives and that those dogs, who meanwhile had surrounded the car and barking with all their might to lead us to give up yet by the approach to the house, breaking through the window. Now, say you've never heard of dogs that smashing a car? Yet, convinced by the words of my sister, I panic and threatening to kill nearly two unhappy creatures, I press the accelerator and I walk away from the alley. Dissolved the tension, I let slip that two tears, not a novice writer from pomposity, I scratched his cheeks. I scratched the right. I leave two dashes white milk, amber stretch produced by the damn spray dyeing.
