Riddle me this. How can I; sophisticated, classy, uber-super, glorious me, be the wife of a man that wears shorts, knee-high socks and slippers out into the blistering cold? A man that scratches his balls in public because he is free-balling it (the only reason for the title of this post). A man that doesn't know that white socks do not mesh with black shoes.
And furthermore, how can I be the mother to a girl that farts in her hand to sniff it? Or who has such toxic gas in her bowels that she could be the soul reason for the hole in our ozone.
Something just isn't right here.
Honestly, I ooze "Posh" from my pores. If you bite me, I would taste of candy. I can wear a potato sack and still make it look good. I could be a bit more discreet about my terrificness but I would only be denying the obvious. So. I'm gonna just shoot the shit straight. I am a rock star.
Try not to be jealous. Jealousy can cause wrinkles. I'm only trying to help you.
Now. Try to refrain yourself from asking any of my beauty secrets. I will not share. There can only be one of me.
Is it just me or do you see the striking resemblance between me and Angelina Jolie?