Dear DB:
Your ignoring me is small potatoes. Very very small, tiny, indeed MINUSCULE potatoes. Don't you know that I have been ignored by men who are way more good-looking, talented, sexy, funny, well-read, well-bred, and intelligent than you? Men who have better hair and bodies and clothes and shoes and cars and apartments and sob stories? Men who are better kissers and other-stuffers?
Please don't flatter yourself into thinking that your ignoring me has made that much of an impact on my life. You are a tater tot compared to the super spuds who've come before you.
Love,
J.
You are such a bitch sometimes.
I always bring my own nylon sock with me to shoe stores. Especially for my recent purchases, because my feet are not entirely flawless these days – certainly far from being as fabulous as your professionally pampered tootsies.
You can’t fool me. You are not sorry in the least bit.
Which is why I love you.
I don’t get the whole foot worship thing. Feet are primarily for locomotion, occasionally for inserting deep up into the rectum of a wayward spouse and/or demonic spawn of the loins of a shedevil.