When I first saw today’s headlines giving Kellyanne Conway shit for having her feet on a couch, I thought, “Goddamn, don’t we have more pressing things to fret about? Obama without a jacket, Conway’s feet — you’re so trifling. This is why we can’t have nice things!”
But, um…then I saw the photo in question and… Oh. Oh, honey… *sigh*
I don’t care about your feet on the couch, but damn, girl, get your VAGINA off the couch!
I hope she at least had on Spanx.
There’s a company in my area I would cut a bitch to work at. And its founder just came up in my OKCupid matches.
Ummm… It’d be wrong to sleep with someone to get a job, right? We’re against that? (I’m kidding. Mostly. But, I mean…he’s cute, so it’s not like it’d be a burden…)
I don’t know what y’all talk about at work…
Coworker: “I need a dermatologist to help me understand how I can have wrinkles and acne. Mother Nature is a cruel mistress.”
Me: “Yeah, I have that, too. It’s adorable. I find myself believing ads for wrinkle cream. And then I hate myself because ‘aging is natural and we should embrace it.’ I am a terrible, terrible feminist.”
Coworker: “I know. But can’t we have equal rights and feel pretty? I want both.”
Me: “Exactly. Lean In…to Botox.”
Smug Singleton 