Listen, I don’t have time to both run around uptown doing some serious shopping for myself (please, did you really think I was doing “holiday” shopping?) and entertain you here. Something’s gotta give. Something’s gotta be sacrificed … and it’s not going to be my fashion flair. It’s going to be your enjoyment.
So please, tonight, find somewhere else to go. Usually I want all your attention. Every last speck, iota, and jot. But tonight, I’m not writing. So go somewhere else. With my blessing. Do a “meme”. A quiz that tells you what kind of dildo you are (which, face it, you are, if you do those things) or which kind of toast you are (which, face it, you’re as exciting as, if you do those things). Something like that.
As for me, I’m too busy stroking my new purchases, many as there are. (No, girls, I will not list them. Some things are just private!) I will say this, though: the sassy salesgirl who sidled up to me at Mexx as I was checking out a pair of pants was right when she said, “Girl, those are booty pants!” I didn’t know what she meant by that, of course, because I’m not hip to the way the kids talk these days. But once I got them home and tried them on, I knew what she meant. I learned what “booty pants” are. In fact, I’m so educated now and so in love with the education that I just can’t take my eyes off my own ass.
And hey, look! I said I wasn’t going to write anything here tonight, but I did. In the end, I did.
So forget about that meme. It’s still aaaall about me. Me.