Hey. It's me, the flour that attacked Kim Kardashian. I'm resting comfortably in the bottom of a vacuum cleaner bag at the moment, but it's getting pretty boring in here. I mean, not that the flour canister in which I resided before this whole thing started was Club Med, but at least I didn't have to put up with carpet lint and gum wrappers crowding my space, you know? Anyway, anyone think they can bust me out of here? I mean, I'm like the most famous flour on the planet right now. I'm sure you can find a use for me. Ebay, anyone?
Anyway, here's how it all went down, 'cause I'm sure you're dying to know why I went ahead and spread myself all over Kim Kardashian and ruined her little perfume launch party.
Like I said before, I was hanging out in the bottom of the flour canister when suddenly the sky opened up and light poured in and my owner, a little Asian gal who mostly eats out, peers down at me. And of course I'm thinking, "Finally, she's gonna bake cookies or something."
But no. She's got a Ziploc bag in one hand and she starts scooping me up and dumping me in the bag. Of course I'm wondering what the hell is going on. I'm flour. I don't belong in Ziploc bags.
Once all of me is in the bag, she stuffs me into her purse and then we're off. I don't know where to; I'm stuffed inside a bag inside her purse and can't see shit. So if you're looking to blame me, look elsewhere. I'm innocent...mostly.
It's quite a while later when I feel her hand squeeze me and the bag is lifted out. Nice place: red carpet, pretty ladies all dressed up, cameras flashing everywhere. Very exciting. And then I see her. Kim Kardashian. You might wonder how I know who Kim Kardashian is, but I live in America. Everyone knows Kim Kardashian, even if you don't have any reason to.
And I see what's going to happen. I try to stop it. I do. I shout, "Run away, Kim! Kick off those marvelous heels and run like the wind in your spectacular leather pants!" But no one hears me because Ziploc bags seal really well.
My owner, the Asian lady, rushes at Kim and lifts me up and then---KABLOOEY!--I splatter all over Kim Kardashian. A lot of me gets on her very classy looking coat and a little bit of me ends up on her blue shirt (it's very soft and nice). Some of me gets on her face, even. And I'd like to report to you that Kim's face is exquisite, but the truth is it's so covered in make-up that it's hard to tell.
But the hair. Oh, the hair is another story altogether. And this is where my innocence may be called into question.
Being all over and up in Kim Kardashian's lustrous hair was like running on clouds and swimming in pools of the finest milk chocolate. It was like sledding down a mountain of silk. I was assaulted (yes, I was assaulted!) by the intoxicating aroma of tee tree oil and peppermint, of rosemary and lemongrass. I spread out to absorb into my essence as much of whatever haircare products Kim Kardashian uses.
I took, greedily.
And then everyone started screaming and pointing at me and I was ashamed. I had been caught. Much of me jumped off then and fell to the red carpet. The beautiful people stared at me with disgust in their otherwise beautiful eyes. Photographers took pictures of me. Bruce Jenner loosed his trademark acidic tongue. "Crawl into the carpet and die, you fucking flour!"
And I would have, had not the vacuum come along and spared me further humiliation and scorn.
So there you have it. Judge me as you will. None of this was my idea, but I cannot say that parts of it were not enjoyable. And if Kim Kardashian's fragrance is indeed a "True Reflection" of the smell of her hair, then count me in. The world needs more beauty.
