I am in such ill spirits today that I actually cursed my chiropractor out of my office. Then Felipe, my manservant, came by with my artisan volcanic water mister, and I threw a Manolo at him. I missed, so I threw my iPhone with slightly better results. Remind me to cancel my trainer, that was a lot of work.
When Mark Zuckerberg popped up on OneChat (that’s just for us 1%, got to keep the electrons unsullied) and asked if I wanted to catch a ride on his plane to Coachella, all I could do was roll my eyes. I have paddled around in enough infinity pools at sprawling villas for the last month.
I don’t know what it is lately, but I just can’t muster enthusiasm for my normal routine. I could seriously strangle myself with this Hermès desk runner. I am wondering if it’s time to return to my primal roots and buy a rustic little farm somewhere? Just think, I could get my feet in the grass and not even care if I ruined my diamond pedicure. The very thought is exhilarating. I could learn to make pie from scratch. I could can food instead of people and make the cutest jar labels with handmade paper.
I think my first order of business will be to have a search team assemble a selection of fine strapping farm hands, and this will naturally unfold from there. Back to nature, as naked and simple as the day we were born!
I know I took the opposite position, but you really have me at “strapping farm hands.” Perhaps what we need is *research*.
This calls for a double-blindfolded study!