Thanks, you wonderful, oversharing, generous people who decide that lunchtime in an echo-y cafe is the totally appropriate place to talk about your childhood ear-piercing debacle that ended with you at the bottom of a flight of stairs with blood all over your face and still no ear-piercings. That's awesome. What a great story! Oh, hey! You see this that I'm trying to do over here? It's called eating. It's also called not gagging. It's something that I enjoy doing. It's also something that, oddly enough, is hindered by your discussion of bodily fluids being smeared all willy-nilly. So, please? Inside voice! Or just shut the hell up entirely- either works great for me.
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I know its been snowing recently. It's great, isn't it? And, wow, maybe you've never seen snow before. I get it. And yeah- you do look SO DAMN COOL with a foot of snow on the top of your car. You must be some kind of bad-ass to have gotten out of that kind of snow. I'm creaming my panties, I'm so damn impressed. You certainly rock- it's clear. However, when said snow slides off of the back of your car and crashes onto the road in front of MY car in a big, slippy-slidey, spin-outy kind of mess, I get a little... hmm... fucking perturbed. I realize that you view the snow as proof that you really NEED to be driving that big-ass SUV and that you really feel so awfully vindicated now (gosh-darn those liberal hippies and their griping, right?), but CLEAN THE FUCKING SNOW OFF OF YOUR FUCKING CAR BEFORE YOU DRIVE IT, YOU LAZY-ASS MOTHERFUCKER. For all of us.
Namaste,
heels
