Of course, I have a good one now, but I'm going to let it stew for a bit.
Joke, I got the movie today. Thank you so much! Very, very cool. I love that movie. If you haven't seen it yet, go rent it.
Please note: This blog is dragging itself out of the dark abyss of pish and crawling insanely up to the topmost pinnacle of posh. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash.
Dear L.L. Bean,
I like your clothes. Honest. Yes, they’re a bit, um, practical and kind of lacking in zip and pizzazz, but they’re functional and sometimes, that’s what I need. Hell, MOST of the time, that’s what I need. I have babies. They throw up, get their sticky little paws all over me and cover me with grunge on a daily basis. I need clothes that will stand up to their molestations. And I really dig that I can return stuff that falls apart, even if it falls apart years later.
However, why can’t I buy a loden green sweater? Why is this colour reserved for men only? Look at it. It’s lovely. It would look fantastic on me. But no, it only comes in men’s sizes. The same holds true for your marine-blue turtleneck and your charcoal grey long-sleeved tee. Only available for men.
I’m not a man. I have boobs (boy, do I have boobs). I have (somewhat) of a waist and I have hips. I don’t like wearing men’s clothing. It makes me look even boxier than I already look. I’d like things that flatter what little shape I have, not that make me look like a big block.
Also, why can’t I get a sweater in a v-neck? Don’t you watch What Not To Wear? Don’t you know that a v-neck elongates you and makes you look taller and thinner and all those things that I strive for? I think you’re missing a huge opportunity here. Women like v-neck sweaters. Honest, they do.
I’m hardly a fashionista, but I think you’d be well-advised to get someone on your staff that could maybe drag you into the 21st century. Some men like to wear pink shirts. Some women like to wear charcoal grey. You should work on that. Don't make me start shopping at Land's End. I'd lose my New England cred.
Yours in fashion confusion,
Dear Leslie and/or Karen, an Inmate At The Hampster County Jail,
My name is not Sandra Provost. I do not know a Sandra Provost. I don't know anyone who knows Sandra Provost. I'm sorry you're in jail and all, but stop calling me collect. You've called me 86 times in the last three days. I won't, on the 87th time, say "Oh my god, I DO know Leslie and/or Karen at the county jail," and accept the charges.
Yours in law-abiding-ness,
Just fucking WORK, would you?
Yours in pissed off-edness,