So as I sit here, in a fab silk nightgown, drinking a Mimosa out of great crystal glasses, with a fresh manicure and pedicure, hot rollers in my nicely highlighted hair, it dawned on me, its hard being a woman. In my next life i want to be a man. A fat, sloppy, hairy, sarcastic, filthy rich man with a huge penis. I don't want to shave. I don't want to go to the gym. I dont want to do anything. But buy some hoe a bunch of Gucci and then lay in bed while she handles the rest. Perhaps with a drink in my hand while she works her ass off to please me. And then afterwards never call. That's my dream. There is so much pressure required of women. I have to be a great cook. I have to keep my house in top-top condition. I have to work and be financially independant. I have to be pretty. Hair, nails, clothes must all be on point. I have to be smart. Charming. I have to be amazing in bed. And I must above all things, keep a man. Which requires I stuff myself into stilletos and maid cos...
You didn't think death would stop me from talking your ear off did you?