You guys, I have an announcement to make.
I found a dress. All that glitters is gold, eh? Well – GOOD THING THIS DRESS IS ALL GOLD, ALL THE TIME! AND IT GLITTERS. A LOT. And yet… it’s not made of glitter. Just think about that for a second, eh??
Really, though, I know the sequins thing is kind of played out at this point. I don’t want all y’all thinking I ain’t hip to the unhipness of that shit. I AIN’T. I just can’t help it. I was literally walking to the checkout line and then BAM! This XL shirt MADE ENTIRELY OF GOLD was basically screeeeeaming at me “At least try me on! There’s no harm in just trying me onnnnn!” So I did. Stupid teeshirt with its whiny little voice and its shiny shiny sequins. TOTALLY FIT. As a dress. BOOM.
C-town can attest to all of this. I’d asked her nicely to accompany me to ye olde Goodwill after our ohmygoshsoamazingidon’tevenwannatalkaboutit deelishush dinner. And, because she is LOS TITTEHS, she did. And thank goodness, too. I’m pretty sure I put back more than half of the stuff I’d put on hold because of her brilliant eye and unwavering logic talking me out of making some dumb decisions. (Also, if you ever have the chance to hang out with C-town, DO IT. Srsly. Bitch’ll make you laugh ’till you piss. And then, she’ll laugh so hard at your jokes that you’ll piss. And then you’ll both have peed. And that’s okay. Because peeing is totally natural.) So what I’m trying to say is that I was all on my way to the checkout line, then el teeshirt-o starts yappin’ at me, so, of course, I do what every normal person does at the Goodwill: I strip down mid-store to throw on what may or may not be the best purchase of my entire life.
C-town’s reaction says it all: “Oh. My. God. What… um… what is THAT???”
me: “I KNOW, RIGHT???”
So I buy it. DOI. It makes me look unquestionably like THE most street-walk-ready thing I’ve pretty much ever owned. (it’s a TEESHIRT. Well, ok. With long sleeves. But dat shit is SHAWTY low, emphasis on the SHAWTY.) So pumped. LET’S DANCE!
In other news, I am coming up now on HOUR NINE of not being able to feel the top of my left middle finger. If any of you can help solve this mystery, these are the clues I can provide from when the realization that I’d lost feeling occurred:
1. I was scrubbing pans.
2. I was wearing scrubbing gloves while scrubbing the pans.
3. I was scrubbing while skyping with a German-residing Australian native who was calling from England whose (presumably Australian) mother had just discovered internet dating. We didn’t talk about that much, but it’s still a true statement.
4. …yeah, no, that’s really everything. 9 hours later, I still cannot feel the tip of my middle finger. On my left hand. WHAT THE FUCK, MATE?
C-town thinks this is something we scrubbers must accept as part of our calling. C-town can tell me whatever she wants. She’s part of the CUNTS crew and I’m on Team C-town FOR LIFE.
And now, a cute bunny. This is stolen from here (if you need more cutes in your life).