Fuck You, Penguin has plumbed the inner depths of my soul.
I fish for compliments like crazy. (H-town posed the rhetorical question last night: Is it really necessary to look good for a trip to the video store? Answer: yes. And you must tell me I look good in order to get me out of the house. "You look fine" will send me back into the bedroom to change clothes.)
And I say I want sneakers for Christmas, but I insist on picking them out. I won't even go into what a project that is. (The style, the fit, the shade of black....) Chances are I will not have them on my hot little feet December 25th. And it's my own damn fault.
Once again via the amazing P.