Now, am I just jealous, because I know if I were to strap on these strange tools of torture and embarrassment I'd resemble Bambi just learning to walk (with thicker calves)? Perhaps.
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But it's not just the shoe; it's the where. Where these clod hoppers are worn. If you want to try out some new footwear for a night on the town. Go for it. Your blisters, not mine. Your broken ankle after the 4th vodka tonic, not mine. But when I see these paired with khakis short shorts in the electronic section of Wal-Mart...Something has gown awry. These shoes do not belong anywhere near a Wal-Mart. No no no. These are not discount-shopping-rolling-back-prices-smiley-face-logo shoes. House shoes. Birkenstocks. Timberlands. Barefoot. All Wal-Mart approved apparel. Platform gladiator sandals? NO. Gimme a break, chica...
And while I've got you here, let me just say: Public restrooms are not dressing rooms or locker rooms. (Yes, I'm back on my bathroom etiquette kick. I'd stop if the ridiculousness would.) Yesterday I walk into my bathroom at work and find some new girl with her dress hiked up, adjusting her slip. Um. Awkward. There was no reaction from her whatsoever. No "Oops, I got caught flashing my underwear. [insert embarrassed smile])" None of that. Newbie, we're not that kind of people here. Put your clothes back on.
Ra-tard Moment of the Week: This thought actually passed through my brain, "Ya know, I love my hot tea but it's just too hot out. We get iced coffee, why can't I make iced teaaa..." I really tried to stop myself from finishing that sentence in my head. Tried really really hard. Was not successful. Ratard.
1 comment:
haha. iced tea. oh mellie...i lurv you so.
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