They look hotter than a frickin Bikram studio with a gas leak, despite the fact that I am a poopyhead and suggested they stand outside in a brisk straight-out-of-the-icy-heart-of-Canada wind. Sorry ladies! They probably had some kind of awesome pact whereby the smartypants on the right would arrive both comfortably warm and effortlessly chic and then change into the Valentino tulle ballgown she has in her bag. The scandal on the left's ankles were toasty, inspiring many Fifty Shades of Grey fans to rethink their Crocs and tube socks. She planned to put on those mustard colored overalls once inside, with a nametag that read D'Wayne. I'm kidding -- there was no nametag, sheesh.
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