on the seventh day of christmas my true love gave to me:
seven times approached by someone in the mall who:
a) spoke with a heavy mediterranean accent
b) wanted to rub something on my nails, my hands, or my head; and,
c) began with "escoose me miss, may i ahs you a queshon?"
no, you cannot ahs me queshon. you cannot ahs me anything. you cannot touch my cuticles, you cannot straighten my hair, and please don't touch me with that claw-like head scratcher.
please try to give somebody else lice for christmas, im not super interested today.
six items off the arbys value menu.
five tears nearly shed.
four very sore limbs.
three sale coats from anthropologie.
two housing contracts in the cutest condo ever in the whole world for me and haley.
and a natalie cole. and i loved her.