At a photoshoot last week, I met another model named Maya. And I liked her straight away. She was bubbly, kind, had long curly hair (that I would gladly give my little finger to have) and she ate, like me, with both hands. I mean, really, how could i not like her? I’ve heard reports of unmet Mayas from lands as diverse as South America, Israel, and Wales and Africa, so I didn’t suspect that this other Maya, part Syrian and part French, was named for her mother’s long-ago Indian neighbor. But by the time she told me that it had already begun to feel like we were connected by affection.
I didn’t however like the make up guy--Mark. Although in the beginning he seemed as fun as everyone’s gay best friend. And I didn’t not like him because while contouring my eyes, he told me to stop smiling because I have big cheeks :). That was actually pretty funny and made me laugh. It was because he gave orders to have the other Maya’s curls brushed out. And then when I looked over at her, her eyes looked as though he had, just then, cut off all her hair.
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