“Say
cheese,” the photographer said to Pollinosi Fever before she started to sneeze.
“Floral dust!”
she cried with mounting despair before another explosive expulsion of air.
“Hey,
Fever!” the photographer cried in dismay. “I need to get this shot. I haven’t
got all day.”
“It’s the particles
in the breeze and the bloody bees!” she retorted, sneezed once more and loudly
snorted.
“I can’t
have you looking like that in the latest issue. Clean yourself up,” he said and
handed her a tissue.
“This damn
dust is ruining my career!” she wailed and wiped away a tear. “I truly detest
this time of year!”
“If I don’t
get a picture in five minutes flat, I’ll find a replacement and that will be
that!”
“Then shove
your camera where the sun doesn’t shine. You’re nothing but a whinging
irritating swine!”
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