So, Camille and Brandi stretched out their H.R. Giger–ian physiques and wondered aloud whether a pool boy would be around to rub lotions onto their already-shiny gizzards. And sure enough, a portly native being paid the minimum wage sprayed both women down with what I hope in my heart was a combination of cooking oil and sugar water. “Do my face,” Camille implored, and soon she was preening, mouth open, toward the spraying services of a Asiatic ectomorph who entreated her HD makeup-laden skin with a fine mist of SPF who cares.
My RHOBH recaps are back.
Jan 3, 12