Can I tell you what it’s been like to be without you crazy gals these past few weeks? It has not been pretty. Y’all…there was cleaning involved. I know. And not even of a crime scene. I know! Apparently when deprived of the opportunity of telling random internet strangers how to live their lives, I turn from my regular Little Edie in Grey Gardens self to Joan Crawford the day that Helga didn’t move the flower pot.
Yeah. It was Not Good.
I’m pretty sure I woke up once from some somnabulistic state to find myself dusting the ceiling fans and telling them that I know they liked them, but that maybe skinny jeans, however on trend, were not the best look for them (I have issues with ceiling fans to begin with. The first time I ever took Ambien, I cut my own hair –bangs were a bad choice– and then laid down to watch the ceiling fan scuttle around the ceiling like a crab. True story.)
Anyhoodle, Manolo has given us the all clear. We are moved to dedicate servers with a 100% up-time guarantee (can’t WAIT to see the spam comments we get from that little phrase) so you will never be deprived of us –and more importantly, we of you– again.
However, if Blanche DuBois is right –and in my world Blanche DuBois is always right– then “a woman’s charm is fifty percent illusion” which means we’re in need of a good story as to what REALLY happened to the Manolosphere, because no one wants to hear about my Come To Jesuses with my ceiling fixtures.
Today Miss Plumcake wants to know: what’s the TRUE story behind the Manolosphere crash and what did your beloved editrixes really do in their mysterious absences?
The juiciest, most entertaining or delightful entry (as selected by me) will be printed on Tuesday as the true story.