Oh y’all. You don’t even KNOW. I’ve been living out of one (ONE) suitcase in a hotel in Nashville for the past…year? Decade? OK, technically only a week and a half but giminy crickets, I am fixin’ to go insane. And not cute, directional insane like Viktor and Rolf but actually purse-full-of-soup* insane, like Gareth Pugh.
If it weren’t bad enough living in a land where my food choices seem to be evenly split between piggly and wiggly I just discovered –the delicate of constitution might want to avert their eyes– there is NO NEIMAN MARCUS IN TENNESSEE. None, not even one. Not only that, but there’s no Saks either. Sure there’s an Off 5th, but I have more shoes than they do. And I don’t just mean in my entire collection, I mean in my suitcase right now and none of this Bev Feldman nonsense either. I want some Loubies and I want them now.
SPEAKING of Loubies, want to hear something tragic? Okay. I’ve rented this hateful little PT Cruiser and it is, hands down, the most bizarre contraption I’ve ever had the misfortune of skippering. So I’m coming home from the hospice at 8:00 in the morning, I’m severely dehydrated, stupid from sleep dep and not at my sparkling best. All I wanted in the whole world was a Sonic Route 44 Diet Cherry Limeade with pineapple, easy ice.
I put the giant bucket o’ soda on the roof of the hateful cruiser so I could get out of the car …yeah, I think you see where this is going. I remove my person from the car and SPLOOSH down comes the entire 44 ounces of bright pink soft drink, WITH chunks of pineapple and lime wedges, all over my head, down my dress and into my pale straw-colored Louboutin flats!
In conclusion: I spent an hour trying to get pineapple out of my hair, I’m STILL thirsty and have possibly ruined a pair of $700 flats by dying them diluted maraschino pink, and frankly if I wanted pink Loubies, I would have bought these:
*I stole that purse of soup line from someone, so uh, thanks to whoever I’m plagiarizing!