chop change chop

vomitola

I don’t ask Kitty Winn for advice. The solution to all that ails me lies in re-sculpting my eyebrows, a new shade of lipstick and a behemoth cup of sumatra- preferably with an espresso dropped in (there’s a spiffy name for that- something to do with guns, i think). I live on the edge- note how I ended a sentence with a preposition back there.

So I was out shopping for clothes today for work. Smart new grey trousers and some shiny new ankle boots. I didn’t let it put me off in the slightest that I haven’t got a job. The point is, I can picture myself in a tie and vest with a silk hankerchief in the breast pocket, telling people what to do, twirling a telephone cord, and having sushi for lunch. Now all I have to do is choose a calling and find a job, preferably one in which I will be in a position to fire people. I better get some silk stockings. I don’t know about you, but I can’t send a man packing in a cotton/lycra blend. I’m a professional!

What did I come in this room again for? Was I looking for something, or was I going to do something?

smooch

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