Druck You, Rue La La


When you were mine, I used to let you wear all of my clothes.

Oh Rue La La, you tease. You panty-flashing, come-hither glancing, fantasy-inducing little trollop. You wave your designer fashions at me from the safety of your online boutique, like the amazing Marc Jacobs boots shown here which I desperately need (ask my girlfriends — I wear flip-flops in December).

You discount them from $495 to $199. And then, like the cruel, taunting harlot you are, you paste a dainty pink ribbon over the corner of the VERY BOOTS that could make my life worth living, that says sweetly, “SOLD OUT.”

Then to drive the knife in further (oh how you enjoy it), if I click on the picture, “This item is completely sold out.” AS IF THERE IS ANY OTHER KIND OF SOLD OUT. See how you make me shouty? WHY DO YOU MAKE ME HURT YOU.



In fairness, I could have gotten up earlier and tried to beat all those NYC biatches to the punch. (11 am for them, 8 am for oversleeping, outta luck Cali girls like me.) If you aren’t already gettin’ with Ms. La Rue and you’d like to be, click here. If that doesn’t work, let me know and I’ll send you an invite.

I’m happy to share her with you, but you’ve been warned. Those boots are irresistible. They are delicious and buttery and Italian — the leather equivalent of fettuccine alfredo. But unless you’re exceptionally lucky, no touchee touchee.

And if you’re STILL reading, you deserve a reward for exceptional procrastination capabilities: Special bonus points for finding the Prince reference in this post!


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