Suntans and cupcakes

I was a complete zombie today.
Last night as I sat paralysed in front of junk TV after spending the last of my energy in Jonathan's 60-minute step class, the office called at about 8.45pm and asked if I could quickly please file a WHOLE new piece on Moodley. And not to worry, I could have until 11pm or so to finish it. This, when I was completely wrecked AND expected in at the office at 6am this morning. Oh yes - this is why I picked this glamorous career!!!
It was a battle to get through the day. My colleague Diva, who counts calories and gets hysterical about food, enlightened me on the latest overseas articles on the controversy surrounding skin shades in women of colour. I had never thought about it before actually.
" It's not a big deal with us black people here in Africa. If you have light skin and you get involved with a guy who is darker or lighter, it's not an issue. But with Indian girls - yo, yo, yo! Check it out when you go to the shopping malls. You will see that in Indian couples they both generally have the same skin tone as each other. A guy will never get involved with a girl who has darker skin that him, and if you see a guy with dark skin and a girl with light skin, then you must know that he is loaded," she said.
I have truly never noticed this.
She backed up her argument with a whole article published in the Daily Mail in London. Hectic stuff. Seems like that kind of thing is true. The global attitude is that lighter skin is classified as more attractive than darker.
Hey - they should have cocked my puce cheeks last week after I spent a few hours in the sun at the Randburg shootout. Why on earth would lily-white features, blotchy and freckled, rank over the glowing brilliance of Beyonce or the chocolaty sheen on Iman? Go figure.
Our spirits lifted when the cookery page editor brought in her latest load of goodies for everyone to devour after they's been photographed. Cupcakes! Disappointment set in when I picked up one pretty little white one with glitter sparkles dusted on top. It weighed as much as a small brick and the delicate icing was in fact marzipan. Yeugh. I put it on the cabinet next to my desk feeling to guilty to throw it away but unwilling to eat it.
My colleague The (diabetic) Brat arrived back from court, all pale and shaky because her sugar levels were out of whack.
"I'm starving," she said, eyeballing my cupcake.
"It's unlicensed confectionary. You may have it. Don't throw it at a car or you will dent it," I said.
She devoured it.