Today was supposed to be a day of gay-erotic homo-estacy. You see, The SnowMan and I had decided to make the 40-mile trek to the Camarillo outlet mall in search of the summer of '07's finest... At 75% off.
Now, while The SnowMan detests all-things retail and otherwise outlet, I am die hard fan of shopping until I'm dropping; a penny saved, in my buying eyes, is a penny truly earned, and I can bargain hunt with the best of them! (Trust me, honey! I survived the Barney's Santa Monica hanger sail on opening day and my retail-tale lived to tell the tail! But I digress...)
Anyhow, 3-hours into our shopping venture, something was made painstakingly clear. My backfat and I are NOT going to find anything to buy. Apparently, as the 3-way mirror so callously told me, I'm a fat, disgusting, homely, should-not-be-allowed-out-in-public troll with an silver AMEX and a social death wish. Needless to say, my ever-flabby arms remained empty, while my man's were filled with bag upon bag: Diesel, Guess, Kenneth Cole, Sak's... You get the point!
You see, he's got the bod of a godly Adonis. He'd look great in a potato sack, provided it with enthused with at least 2% lycra-spandex. Like, on the other limp-wristed hand, should be relegated to diaphanous moo-moos and Big and Tall clearances.
Oh, F it to Hell! I'm gonna call Papa John's and fill my shopping-related sadnesses with carbs!
WeLCuM 2...
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