And a chastity belt that is not necessary, given the unirrigated condition, hideously veinous scarecrow arms and unattractive stance of the subject, above. But nevermind that. Dig these heavyweight Chloe vintage ski pants that have gone a bit disco at the bottom, and the Ibiza-luvin Luca Luca sandal on the fore paw (is that a faux pas?) and the lizard Michael Kors pump with toes a-peeping on the back foot. I cannot explain the gangsta chain other than to say it arrived, with the rest of this swag, in a big sell-back box from the young one so I put it on. Everything. At once.
Do you like the Chloe pants but wish they were in a goldenrod color and on your pins instead of mine? And without the thug chain? And with matching shoes? And a pedi? And maybe not in front of a Chevy Aveo-sized television set with bunny ear antennas? It could happen if you get yourself up to GH2 in Minneapolis. I swear I haven't tried those on. And if I did, I was wearing underpants.