I don't have many clothes. It's no one's fault but my own. I need to shop, and for some reason or another, I haven't found the time. This is going to change. In February I turn 38, and if I don't have at least 38 pieces in my closet that I adore, cherish, can't wait to wear, than stuff is going down more than that hooker on Hugh Grant. (Oh, shut up. That was funny.)
In addition to my lack of decent threads, I own the worst shoes ever. And, to add insult to injury, I saw a dog on the sidewalk yesterday who was wearing ruffled shorts and leather booties. No joke.
Only in L.A..
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