Brigitte Bardot is perhaps one of the most well-known names in the world. She started her career as a model in the 1950s, and today she works as an activist. The 88-year-old former actress and model resides in the South of France.
According to recent reports, emergency services rushed to her home to aid her…
Birgitte Bardot first gained notoriety as an actress and a model beginning in 1952. She soon became an icon and turned into one of the most iconic pop culture sex symbols of the ’50s and ’60s.
She was known for playing roles that showcased sexually liberated women who lived on the wild side.
The actress, however, retired from acting and modeling in 1973 and focused her energies instead on becoming an activist. Her main area of activism is animal protection and welfare. She, however, came under fire for racist remarks and homophobic comments she made in her own autobiography.
The 88-year-old French film icon is married to husband Bernard d’Ormale. It was her husband d’Ormale who spoke to the media and confirmed the health scare Bardot suffered.
“It was around 9 a.m. when Brigitte had trouble breathing,” d’Ormale said. “It was harder than usual but she didn’t lose consciousness. Let’s call it a moment of respiratory distraction.”
He explained, “The firefighters arrived, gave her oxygen to breathe and stayed for a moment to watch her.” He told the outlet the firefighters arrival was slightly delayed because they had initially went to the wrong address before arriving at the correct one.
The reason behind her breathing issues according to d’Ormale was the heat. He said, “Like all people of a certain age, she can no longer bear the heat.”
“It happens at 88, she must not make unnecessary efforts,” he continued. “Her pulse is fine, her heart too and her blood pressure is good, but things remain fragile.”
The actress apparently has been complaining of the heat in their home and that the airconditioning is not enough. Her husband said their air conditioning “is not very strong at home.”
We are glad to know that Brigette Bardot is doing well. Share this piece with other fans of the former actress so they can know she is doing better as well.
I COMPLAINED ABOUT MY NEW NEIGHBORS’ HORRIBLE FOUNTAIN & RECEIVED A THREATENING NOTE FROM THEM.
The quietude of Elm Street, once a symphony of birdsong and gentle laughter, had been shattered. The arrival of the new neighbors, the Morlocks, had thrown the idyllic tranquility of their little community into chaos.
Initially, I had tried to be welcoming. A plate of freshly baked cookies, a warm smile, a friendly “Welcome to the neighborhood!” But my overture had been met with a chilling silence. The woman who answered the door, pale and gaunt, had regarded me with a suspicion that bordered on paranoia. “Ew, it smells awful,” she had muttered, her eyes darting nervously around as if I were some sort of disease.
Then came the fountain. A monstrosity of wrought iron and gargoyles, it stood imposingly in their yard, a constant, jarring presence. The incessant gurgling and splashing, day and night, had become the soundtrack to our lives. Sleep became elusive, replaced by the monotonous drone of the water.
The neighborhood, once a haven of peace and camaraderie, was now a battleground. Tempers flared. Arguments erupted at the weekly community meetings. Finally, a vote was taken – a unanimous decision to request the removal of the fountain.
And so, the unenviable task of filing the official complaint fell to me. I, the self-proclaimed peacemaker, the neighborhood’s unofficial ambassador of goodwill, was now the bearer of bad tidings.
That evening, as I returned home, a small, ominous package lay on my doorstep. No return address. A shiver ran down my spine.
Inside, a single sheet of paper, scrawled with menacing handwriting:
“I KNOW YOUR SECRET. YOU WILL BE POLITE TO YOUR NEW NEIGHBORS, OR EVERYONE WILL KNOW.”
Fear, cold and clammy, gripped me. Who was it? The Morlocks? Or someone else, someone watching, someone waiting for the right moment to strike?
The following days were a blur of paranoia and unease. I checked every window and door lock multiple times a night. I slept with the light on, the faintest sound sending shivers down my spine. My once peaceful neighborhood had transformed into a place of fear and suspicion.
The police, after much persuasion, agreed to investigate. They questioned the Morlocks, of course, but they denied any involvement. The woman, her face gaunt and drawn, maintained her innocence, claiming she was simply trying to enjoy her own property.
The investigation yielded nothing. No fingerprints, no witnesses, no concrete evidence. The threat remained, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of our seemingly idyllic community.
I started carrying a small can of pepper spray, my hand instinctively reaching for it at every rustle of leaves, every unfamiliar sound. I avoided going out alone at night, my days filled with a constant sense of unease.
The incident had changed me. The once friendly, outgoing neighbor was now withdrawn, suspicious, constantly scanning the shadows for signs of danger. The peace and tranquility of Elm Street, shattered by the arrival of the Morlocks, had been replaced by a chilling sense of fear and uncertainty.
And the fountain, that monstrous, discordant symbol of their arrival, continued to spew its icy water, a constant reminder of the darkness that had seeped into the heart of their once idyllic community.I COMPLAINED ABOUT MY NEW NEIGHBORS’ HORRIBLE FOUNTAIN & RECEIVED A THREATENING NOTE FROM THEM.
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