Dear Vanderbilt Kid,

You little twit. Who do you think you are (a) trying to hit on me at my boyfriend's party?-i'm old enough to be your mother (...almost) (b) slapping me on the wrist for smoking by saying "You can see my dad when you get cancer...he's the top pulmonary specialist in Chicago"- I don't need your reprimands, a girl's gotta get her kicks somewhere...besides, I quit (mostly) and (c) THEN deciding to linger your way back to me once you figured out I had weed and wanted to mooch off my shit (What would Daddy Dearest think?)

Bless Your Toolish Heart,

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