You can think of it as Paris Hilton going to jail for 45 days for violating probation.
I choose to think of it as Paris Hilton paying a teeny-weeny price for the innumerable sins of trustafarians the world over.
Let's not worry about her too much, though - I'm sure some benevolent soul will take her under her wing. Maybe ER Landson - also of the Lynwood Women's Correctional Facility - will take pity and let Paris do her hair while they swap stories about boys and manicures and who in West L.A. sells the best Colombian marching powder. They'll swap make-up tips and Paris will help apply ER's signature abalone pink pearl nail polish, vainly trying to keep the falling ash from ER's ever-present lower-lip-dangling cigarette from sullying the fresh lacquer. But I said it would be in vain: after the falling ash spoils the wet enamel, Paris will whine and sulk, and then ER will have to beat her on the backs of the thighs with a hair accessory from the Goody line of products. (why do you think they call them "paddle brushes?"] Then Paris will remove the spoiled manicure and start over. Rinse. Lather. Repeat.
Somewhere in Texas, the common man's burden will shift ever so slightly as his load eases, and Paris pays for a rich asshole's cat that peed in someone's car.
Life is good.
