I’ve been hooked to the telly since the Opening Ceremony and I haven’t missed a single figure skating or ice dancing routine. I scrutinise the ice skaters’ every movement, every detail, and their performance as a whole from my perspective as a television spectator. I ooh-and-aah at their outfits — the tiniest, most sparkly dresses. But, contrary to when I’m watching a Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, I don’t ever comment on the ice skaters’ bodies.
I am walking down the street, when that bottle-blond girl from my University class passes me. She hurriedly acknowledges me with a smile before hurrying onwards to the seminar for which we’re both late. I scowl; her smile is crooked and her bright red lipstick only enhances that. It draws way too much attention to her teeth, and as she walks away from me her behind jiggles — badly. She really shouldn’t be wearing those leggings like they’re a pair of jeans — they’re not — and just like everyone else she can’t pull it off.