And maybe it's me, but I just can't picture myself in the grocery store in denim shorts and cowhide tights. I'm trying to draw the attention AWAY from my thighs. And the egg hat would cover up my pouffy hair and pouffy hair is a 40 somethin's woman's best "don't look at my wrinkles" trick.
Here's another teen look, from the teen who every time she opens her imbecilic mouth, my ears begin to bleed. And I'm not even talking about her singing. If you're interested, this post will give you the scoop on all things I hate about Miley. I'm not going to speak of her ass ways today. I'm in too good of a mood, to get all worked up.
If I wore those jeans, everyone who knows me and my klutziness, would think I'd tripped over my own two feet walking down the sidewalk, busted my ass and then in an attempt to regain my footing, fallen forward, shredding my jeans at the knees, then tripped again and crashed through a newly painted fence. Because, that might possibly have happened at some point in my life, except the fence hadn't just been painted.
And I won't even start on the purse clearly made from Labradoodle fur.
I've never looked my best in watermelon skewer accessories. And we won't even talk about how desperately sad flouncy mini skirts look on women of a certain age. Ahem, Madonna.
I'm all about the big, chunky necklaces, but my back is 40 somethin' years old and this is just screaming at me, "Sciatica Bitch!"
Posted by Joann Mannix at 11:30 AM