She may have only one name, but cutie-pie French pastry Rosette has two of everything else that counts. She has a quick-moving pair of inquisitive and mischievous eyes. Her twin nostrils snort in delicate delight and widen with perceptible arousal. Her cheeks, a matching set of two, are round as apples and blush to a shade of perfect ripeness. Rosette’s high and flighty breasts can be easily counted, one with each eye of the beholder, and her perfectly symmetrical and charmingly contoured bum cushions are exact doubles. The only singular thing of any importance about Rosette, aside from her name, is her bushy covering of coochie foliage, which can be fully enjoyed in French director Eric Rohmer’s Pauline at the Beach (1983). Use rewind, and Rosette’s mound is twice as nice.