My Heart is Made of Gravy
I’m no girly girl. Spring heralds panic because it means no more jeans and motorcycle boots, and I don’t fucking wear heels. Paying for haircuts is for losers. And don’t get me started on tweezing your eyebrows into those creepy silent-actress half-moons.
But still, I’m in love with this dress.
It’s by someone named Nanette Lepore and it costs $350. You could have bologna in your hair and wear pantyhose armwarmers and put this dress on and God would illuminate you from within like His special whorechild. Like blazing slaytracks. Like fuck, I just look like this. Naturally. Like this will fix everything. Fly this shit to Iran and those English seamen will walk.
Say anything in this dress and it’s freaking italicized, yo.
One Response to “My Heart is Made of Gravy”
1 Pistol Whip 3 April 2007 @ 2:54 pm
I’m on the beach. And drunk. Know who would look good in this dress, too? ME.
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