Today was Sunday brunch. This means that a large faggle convenes over at a friend's place for mimosas (a.k.a. Buck's Fizz), trash talking, and various menu items from the W.A.S.P. Cookbook. Trust me - it's a southern thing.
Near the end of the brunch, our host brought out a pair of ill-fitting boots he received from his loving mother, offering them up to whomever they might fit.
Oh... did I mention these were Prada boots?
Well, after various of us tried to force our feet into the Cinderella shoes, it came down to three people. For one, the boots seemed slightly too large. For another, they were just a bit tight. And yes, dear goldilocks, one was just right.
So what's the point of me telling you this? Just as it seemed sure that Ms. Goldilocks was gonna go home with her Rice-A-Roni, a newcomer to the brunch blurted out, "Someone get me a salt tablet. I'll make my feet swell up so those damn things fit!!!"
Don't come between a fag and her Prada, m-kay!!
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