We walked into a chic-chic restaurant, where the girls are all like models with their perfect hair and perfect skin and perfect make-up, and they just lay around the front area because, well, they're the hostesses with nothing better to do than to schmooze the customers and show them to their seats and inform them that Cedric will be serving them. A cinch of a job, really.
I didn't make it as far as my seat because just barely inside the door I started sniffing.
"What's that smell?" I asked the beautiful blonde girls, still wrinkling my nose while they didn't answer me. "Seriously, what's that smell? Seafood?"
"Yes", she said, with winged eye-liner that resembled Amy Winehouse on a good non-rehab day. "Our lunch special is a crab quesadilla with spiced-chili sauce."
"Oh. I thought I walked into a gynaecologists office and caught a whiff of something bad."