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11:00 a.m. - 2006-02-24
Feet.
I have THE best bottle of port from a local winery that rocks my alcoholic world. And its coming to the beach with me. Six might remember it from the tour we took a few years ago with Timmay. This particular winery makes a couple of OK wines, but the port is the real deal. Lucious, sweet, pungent.

Like me.

Bwahahaha.

My shopping spree is finished with the exception of shoes. And no, I don't have a shoe fetish or anything. I just don't have a pair of brown sandals that are comfy to walk in, yet feminine and suitable for a skirt. In fact, I have no brown/cream/taupe sandals at all. Just black. And black would be such a shame to pair with the lovliest of brown outfits.

I bought a swim suit two months ago, but does anyone have sandals out? No. Payforshit has some, but they are either some weird version of Roman sandals, or 5 inch heels made of concrete. Moderation people. I'm old. I need walkable shoes. Fuck me heels are for short distances, like from the closet to the bed, provided the carpeting is padded. Or for "dancing" on a stage, but then you have a pole to grab onto and plenty of horny men to land on if you happen to topple over.

You never knew feet could cause so much drama, did you?


 

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