Yesterday, K declined an invitation to be photographed – in his guise as “prominent local businessman” – for a promotional campaign that would have seen his beaming visage plastered all over town: billboards, bus stops, public transport, the full works.
His reasons for turning the offer down were reasonable enough: he wasn’t dolled up in the requisite business drag, and in any case, he has people to do that sort of thing on his behalf these days. Besides, there’s only room for the one media whore in our household.
Whilst applauding his modesty, I couldn’t help but experience a slight twinge of regret. God, the mileage I could have extracted from that one…
“My boyfriend’s got a face like the back of a bus! Quite literally! Look, over there!“
I feel quite robbed.
troubled diva 