Friday, August 1, 2008

Catherine // British Vogue

Catherine. Dear. You clean up so well, then again, you always have, haven't you. Yes, come in. Oh, never mind Javier. He always cleans my silver in a speedo and a hairnet. I called you over here to delicately broach this subject with you. I know you're a smart, erudite gal about town, as evinced by that chic vest and gorgeously toussled hair, but I must say this or forever hold my peace. My husband is not a piece of stock. He is not to be traded on your bedroom floor, bought and sold for what I can only imagine is a cheap thrill. That's all. I hope you know the rest. Now walk those 8 ft gams, swathed in gold lamé, the hell out of here. You should know where the door is by now.
Ms. Ross

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