Disclaimer: Okay, you can't tell me you all are really THAT stupid. Do I really need to tell you in EVERY chapter what I do and don't own! Lord! This is pretty sad... Anyway, its must be done... but do you REALLY think I own Wal-Mart?! OR Salvation Army?! I didn't think so! Humph! (But just in case you did think I owned them, I don't, so don't come asking me for gist certificates or a bell-ringer's Santa Suit or something...or one of those annoying bells. THEY NEVER STOP! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!) And to the squirrel who never stops talking (or growing for that matter), The wall did NOT eat your sushi...it was me... wails I'm so sorry! It was just so tempting! I feel so fat now... WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Sniffle sniffle. Okay, I'm better now. To the story-thingy-ma-bobber!

A/N-Me again. I bet you're all SO excited. Rolls eyes . Yeah. Whatever. So here's the next chapter or whatever. I think I'm gonna say that a lot. But whatever. That's beside the point. Whatever. Oh and no offense if you're French or something I just wanted something funny in here. So, um, yeah. Whatever.

So, um... I think this is chapter 6 or something but whatever-
The model

See, you come in and there is this girl sitting there named like Athena or something but whatever. Man, I feel very flippant and nonchalant. Whatever. Anyway she's like biting her nails or something which is like, REALLY unhealthy cause it eats your stomach or something, but whatever.

Ok, wake up, Brittney, you sound like a dead hippie! Sorry all I have not had my morning coffee (seeing as I don't drink coffee that is probably a good thing). Well now I am REALLY going to get to the story now and no more whatever's. Well, except that cause it was describing 'whatever' and DOH! OH! Okay, that was my last thought! Well actually that was cause it was describing it and AH! Oh! Shhh! Eek! Oh it's a never-ending cycle of insanity! Help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And no more self-insertion...DOH! Be quiet in there! Ah!...

Chapter 6: The model

Well, at least I got THAT right. She was sitting in her house biting her nails. She had seen the psychiatrist again and she said Athena should no longer see Roger (waaaaaaaaaaah! Oh! Shut up! Eek!) but instead find another man. In her desperation, Athena agreed on one of the doctor's men again. "This one reminds me of Aphrodite a bit." She had said. "I like Aphrodite-eth." Athena had replied, thinking very hard. "Well, he does have one teeny tiny problem..." That made Athena rather apprehensive. "What-eth?" she said. "Well...he's rather...well... vain." "Vain-eth? I don't know if I like vainness-eth." She thought a moment. " Vain-ith, vains-eth. Vanity-eth..." "Achem...back to the point..." "Oh yes-eth. Sorry-eth." "Anyway, like I was saying, he's really quite a lovely young man. About your height, perhaps a bit shorter..."

"Shorter-eth!? Well I certainly can't have someone SHORTER than me- eth!!!"

"Oh come now! You shouldn't be so hard on him. He's French you know..."

She gasped. Suddenly Athena felt very foolish and rude. She almost felt like crying! Stupid, stupid goddess. Poor little guy. How awful it must be to be... she shuddered... she almost didn't dare say it... French. It was bad enough just being short, but being French just made it all the worse. French was bad. French was very bad. French was worse than cable.

"Oh-eth. I'm so sorry-eth. I...I didn't know-eth."

"Yep. And that's why I thought you would be good together. You, of all people, would be sympathetic. He's kind of had a hard time lately. Every time someone asks him out, which is usually out of sympathy, he turns them down. I think his self-esteem is getting so low he doesn't want to date anyone out of fear of embarrassment."

Athena sighed and thought a little. She sort of felt...obligated to date him. She knew if he were to date a goddess, that would be like...like... like being mistaken for an American! That's almost as good as the Internet! It would be the best day of his short mortal life! Of course, he wouldn't know she was a goddess. That is, unless her, sigh , natural beauty showed through. She thought some more, and then decided.

"Alright-eth. I'll go out with him ONLY once-eth. I don't want a reputation of liking...you know... FRENCH guys-eth."

"Oh thank you Athena! Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank! Oh, and you'll need to drop the old English thing...They might find it offensive...You know, with their funky accent and all."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever-eth. So, um... what's his name-eth?"

"Oh right, his name. His name is..."

"Yes-eth????" She was getting impatient.

"Jean Claude Philip Junior the Second."

Later

It wasn't until much later that she remembered that name. She knew it was familiar, but she didn't know where from. As she went shopping for that evening, the clothes seemed to scream at her, "Buy me! I'm designed and sold by the racy and slightly feminine clothing designer Jean Claude Philip Junior the second!"

It was just then that she realized it- she HATED French clothes and their designers...ESPECIALLY his clothes. She had seemed them before- the low cut, dangly, stringy, gothic, pearl covered, fluffy laced, graffiti impersonating scraps of cloth known is the French world as 'dresses and gowns for formal occasions.' Now she knew why they were worse than cable. She seemed VERY out of place in her soft white toga and olive leaf wreath woven in her hair while she stood in the middle of the nearest Wal-Mart... (what's Wal-Mart in Greek? She wondered). Oh well. If they weren't going to accept her for who she was and not who they thought she should be than she was just gonna leave...humph...besides, she could always go to Salvation Army... They always have good clothes there...

Later...again!

She met him outside his house in Southern Paris. He was dashing, a fine example of pure French blood and legacy, ringing throughout the hallways of time and honor. (In other words he was short with one of those annoying curly beard things and had on a black striped shirt... oh and a little green hat thing...I think its called a beret but whatever...).

"Well, hello monsieur Jean Claude Philip Junior the second! (Try saying that one five times fast! Ha! You actually tried! HA HA HA! Whatever...) He looked at her up and down and a look of disgust fell upon his face. She became worried. "Um...Is something the matter?"

He scoffed and for a moment she thought he sounded quite like a pig and had to hold back her laughter. And he hasn't spoken once, she thought. Maybe he's mute. She rolled her eyes. Great. Just great! I go out for a date and she sets me up with a short mute French clothes-designing pig! This is just WONDERFUL! Grrrrrrrr. Finally he talked, but in a very funny, high-pitched, THICK French accent.

" Are you really wearing THAT?! Get in her quickly before anyone sees me! Quickly quickly quickly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" She thought this very offensive and found him very rude to say such things. But she wouldn't know HOW rude until later that night.

Later

She sat in his living room waiting... and waiting...and waiting... This was VERY boring. Finally he arrived out of a back room holding up a racy little gown about one-eighth of the size of her own present toga. Her voice was astonishingly shrill.

"WHAT?! I am NOT wearing that!!!" "Hmmm...you're right, it would make your hips look MUCH too big. Wait here." She gasped and gaped at his horrid manners. No WONDER no one would date him... actually, HE wouldn't date anyone. His self-esteem was just fine, that was NOT the problem. He probably thought they were all too fat or something! The poor girls! She decided she MUST say something...

A few minutes later he returned again, this time with something even less modest. It cut well below her waist and went MUCH to far down her neck- line. What little scraps WERE there were simply that- scraps of clothes, ripped and torn and seemingly glued to a tiny band around her top and waist. This was too far.

"Now see here, Jean Claude, I..."

"No no no no no! You have much too large hips! You will tear ze dress! This is disgusting, why just look at that flab simply HANGING off of you!"

"Why I never! I am perfectly fine young man! In fact, for my age and category I am a bit UNDER-..." He began to busy himself about her, rudely forcing on the new gown despite her will and taping and pinning at what seemed like a million miles an hour.

"Stop it! I said stop! Stop it now! Quit it!" She tried over and over but the words were falling on deaf ears. By now she was nearly stark naked in his flat despite the fact that the dress was fully on her and in its desired, if not quite appropriate, placing. She simply HAD to do SOMETHING to get his attention. Then it came to her. She knew she shouldn't say it, but it was her last resort and seemingly the only way to get out of this.

"I'M BREAKING UP WITH YOU! I HATE YOUR CLOTHES! I NEVER WANTED TO DATE YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE! I JUST FELT SORRY FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU WERE FRENCH!!! NO WONDER NO ONE ELSE WOULD GO OUT WITH YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Right away she knew she have kept her mouth shut. His hands seemed to freeze in place and then quiver a little. He rose quietly and stood as still as a statue. Her hand rose to her mouth as if driven by some unseen force held in place by an invisible ghost. His voice was unnaturally shaky.

"What did you just say?"

"Oh, Oh Jean Claude, I'm so sorry, I..."

"You went out with me out of PITY? Because I am FRENCH?!" He looked as if he were spitting the words out in disgust. "You hate my clothes?!" She couldn't lie to him, so she simply nodded her head in solemnity. He sighed. "And you say...you are breaking up with me??" Again, she could only bring herself to nod. "Then let me ask you a question... Since when have we been going out?! I have not dated any one since... since before I met Emmaline!"

She was taken aback. Emmaline? Who was she?! He was not really single!? What had the physiatrist said to him!? Questions raced through her head. She was so shocked by this she hardly thought to breath and she went very pale.

"You...you're not...single? You...you're married?!?!?!" This time it was he who nodded his head.

"To my top model, Emmaline. I met her several years ago and we married not long after. She is at a photo shoot as we speak."

"Then....then what did Dr. Agathy send me here for? What did she say to you?" He chuckled.

"You mean ze physiatrist? She said you were here for tomorrows runway show. That you were new to modeling and could use a lesson in using the right moves to 'speak' to ze designers and that she heard I had lots of experience." He chuckled yet again. "She is quite the smooth talker, no?" Athena gasped at the shocking impudence. First she set her up with a car salesman, then a French man...a MARRIED French man!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This was turning out horribly.

"Listen, I am SO sorry about all of this. I had NO idea that you were..." she gulped, "married."

"Ah, no harm done. Though I am a bit offended about what you said of my clothes."

"Oh that! Oh, I am really sorry. I do hope that we can still be friends after this... After I serve my time for murdering the physco...I mean...physiatrist." At first he appeared to be taking her seriously and looked very disturbed, but then he realized it was a joke. (French people always did have a slow humor).

"Well, I don't mean to be rude, but you should probably go." He said. "Emmaline should be here any moment."

"Oh yes. Good-bye then!"

"Good-bye. Oh, wait a minute... Just what did you mean by... you felt sorry for me because I'm French?"

"Oh, that... well you know what they say about French..." He laughed.

"Do I ever! 'French is bad. French is very bad. French is worse than cable.'" They both laughed.

"Yes. Well, good-bye now!"

"Good-bye!" he said, and she turned around the corner, and left.