I had to run to the store…and I bought Star by Pamela Anderson (more or less).
I know. My shame knows no bounds. Contributing to the delinquency of an industry which gives a woman millions for nothing more than overdosing on peroxide and silicone while my talented and dedicated peers eat Ramen noodles is so very wrong.
But this is such an intense time of year, when it’s hard to keep the responsibilities and pressures from crushing the little girl inside. And there it sat, so reminscent of the Jackie Collins-esque tinsel trash that got me so hot and bothered in high school and it just jumped its gaudy pink self right into my cart.
I’m so not worthy. *slithers under desk* I deserve to be punished—preferably by this guy.