My big, wet, cyber-kiss to you
Let me begin with a grand and sweeping gesture, and wish you with the utmost sincerity and gravity a happy Valentine's Day. I'm a little ovarily-influenced this evening, so I'm feeling a lot of love for practically everyone in my life, and since in my irrationality I'm not being overly particular, you're probably a recipient of this sudden gooiness. (Just be glad you weren't around two minutes ago, when the end of "A League of Their Own" made me cry. Lordy, men get off so easy.)
I know that there's an unspoken rule that, as a single person, I'm not supposed to be cheery or affectionate on Valentine's Day, so I'm going to try my hardest to feel embittered and to begin spouting putrid condemnations of all those who DARE to be in love on this, our nation's most COMMERCIALIZED and DISGUSTING of holidays. I suspect, though, that I won't manage to put myself in my place today; I apologize for breaking protocol. Woe is me. (<---never has looked correct to me. Should I admit that?)
Was it horrible of me to go to Girl Scouts with my track mark exposed? (It's not like it says "Red Cross" on it. What if I've turned their innocent little hearts to drugs? What'll St. Peter do to me for this oversight?!)
I'm beginning to suspect that my mother doesn't care whose Vuittons are real and whose* are hideous posers. I'm very careful to point out either when I see them, and then (though already there's a hint of "oh please, shut up" in her eyes) to give a concise evaluation of said purse, noting minute details that red-flag either condition. On Saturday, a real Vuitton walked into H&R Block, straight from Boston. (It had a person attached.)
...All hail the queen of non-sequiturs!
*has also never seemed correct to me. I believe this to be a grammatical fallacy, and if it is, I need Smack to tell me. ...Smack?
I know that there's an unspoken rule that, as a single person, I'm not supposed to be cheery or affectionate on Valentine's Day, so I'm going to try my hardest to feel embittered and to begin spouting putrid condemnations of all those who DARE to be in love on this, our nation's most COMMERCIALIZED and DISGUSTING of holidays. I suspect, though, that I won't manage to put myself in my place today; I apologize for breaking protocol. Woe is me. (<---never has looked correct to me. Should I admit that?)
Was it horrible of me to go to Girl Scouts with my track mark exposed? (It's not like it says "Red Cross" on it. What if I've turned their innocent little hearts to drugs? What'll St. Peter do to me for this oversight?!)
I'm beginning to suspect that my mother doesn't care whose Vuittons are real and whose* are hideous posers. I'm very careful to point out either when I see them, and then (though already there's a hint of "oh please, shut up" in her eyes) to give a concise evaluation of said purse, noting minute details that red-flag either condition. On Saturday, a real Vuitton walked into H&R Block, straight from Boston. (It had a person attached.)
...All hail the queen of non-sequiturs!
*has also never seemed correct to me. I believe this to be a grammatical fallacy, and if it is, I need Smack to tell me. ...Smack?