Fatale Abstraction

OK OK. Don't start worrying about me. Those last 2 entries are way too macro for this gal. Don't succumb to the fear that I'm going to go all political or big-picture on you. This journal is about 3 things: Me, me and me! Don't worry that this disposable bit of fluff is going to boil down to an icy rock of vitriolic lead. Me and my double D's is on the case. However, we reserve the right to bitch about the Machiavellian among us... ...Two days ago I went shopping for panties. It was a glorious orgy of panty acquisition. Seriously, I filled the basket at TJ Maxx with a vertable crayon box of panty selection. Woohoo. New drawers are a thing of wonder and beauty-they make one feel all swishy-sassy. Then I wended my way over to the shoe aisle, and found a Spanish sandal I rilly rilly loved. I bought 4 pairs of identical sandals (different colors) and about a dozen panties. I'm channeling Imelda Marcos. Peel me another grape, Ferdinand. Let them eat cack.