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She was pouting like a bitch because this is what the photographer, Emmanuel D'Souza, was demanding of her, and the only thing Carol O'Mealy liked better than pouting like a bitch was being told to pout like a bitch by a man wearing leather pants and a scarf for a belt ...
"I like this pout," said Emmanuel, who had stopped shooting and was now pouting himself. "But I am not convinced it is real. I am not convinced that this is the pout of a bitch. It looks more like the pout of a nice lady who is upset with her doggie. Her doggie who peed on the leg of her Hepplewhite chair, you see?"
Carol injected more venom into her pout, thinking of her mother. Emmanuel wasn't satisfied.
"No ... This is the pout of a nice lady whose copy of Family Circle came through the mail kind of—how do you say?—soggy. She cannot read the recipes. This is not the right kind of pout."
Carol straightened her back, squinted her eyes and threw hatred into her pout. Emmanuel still hadn't taken the camera off his shoulder.
"No, no. This is the pout of a Bikram yoga instructor who finds her nice hummus salad half-eaten in the communal refrigerator. She is sad about this for now she must go to the Whole Foods and get a new salad. This pout is not the right kind of pout."
Dave Eggers, "New Hampshire Is for Lovers," Salon April 29, 2004
posted April 29, 2004 in politics, print