Alice Pelot
On Haussmann’s Boulevard Foche, Rrose Sélavy became aware of a foreign object in her right trouser leg. It dropped from her waistband down to the crease formed where the thigh meets the bottom – incidentally where she is most ticklish. It frightened Rrose Sélavy at first because something had jumped up and bit her in the buttocks and like a less heroic Forrest Gump, she froze sur place. Rrose Sélavy immediately recalled her misfortune as a young girl to twice find a caterpillar in her right shoe and could imagine nothing less than a hostel spider in her trousers. Rather than strip down on the boulevard, she quickly and inconspicuously reached for her bottom with her back to a hedge. Quickly assessing the object through the thick denim, Rrose Sélavy was relieved to discover a pervasive and perverse bobby pin that had been assumed lost. It was not a living creepy-crawly, but it was uncomfortable and it had to go. Shaking her leg in large, violent motions seemed an embarrassing solution for the assaulting metal known only to her, so Rrose Sélavy began a natural dislodging process. Performing a subtle lunging maneuver in her slow and calculated stride, the cheeky shrapnel moved again, nestling less obtrusively in the crease of her knee. Then something even more alarming happened. Due to the original shock, or the angle of her pelvis as she wiggle-walked, she felt her bowels shift. She had to pee. No, it was more serious. She had to poo. Rrose Sélavy was known and remembered by friends and co-workers for this deceitful, all-too-personal phrase ‘I have to pee’, implemented to excuse herself to the toilet even when the matter at hand was not liquid.