I technically know that there must be worst places in the world than Oklahoma.
I am sure we have many superfantastic readers who live in the state responsible for making sure Texas doesn’t fall into the Gulf of Mexico, BUT I will say I do not relish The Sooner State. The first time I was there, when I was 10, I saw a dead German Shepard that looked just like our dog Argus. The second time I got attacked by a marauding flock of emu who tried to eat my eyeballs and got heckled because the friends I was with had tattoos. The third time was this weekend, on my way to back-to-back funerals in Arkansas. I needed emotional support. I needed Morrissey.
Okay technically I need a new pair of Valentinos and the leopard pony Zanottis with the scooped crocodile heel I’d been eying at Neiman Marcus Last Call for the past six months, but since I’m in denial about falling off the No Buy Wagon, I am not talking about that.
Oh how I love Morrissey. I love that somewhere in the world there is a fussier, vainer, more self-indulgent, self-impressed person than I, and I love that he has a pompadour.
Also? Girlfriend can wear a suit. YUM.