Hello, dear Hussy,
Put your snazziest prancing pants on and come frolic with me.
Now I know some of you are mildly concerned and aggressively amused by the hostile takeover of glitter in my wardrobe.
The shimmer. The shine. The full blown rhinestone insurgency.
I didn’t choose the rhinestone insurgency. The rhinestone insurgency chose me.
Relax, Twila.
I have not been possessed by a fabulous, fashionable glitter demon.
And even if I was, would you ask Jennifer Aniston from the hussy award winning masterpiece Office Space to wear less flair?
Would Christopher Walken demand less cowbell?
The answer is nay.
Or if you are Canadian, nay ehhh. I am sooooory.
Cancel your reports to the Fashion Police. They have not issued a single lamented ticket since Joan Rivers passed in 1902.
Gone too soon. Rest in sparkles.
Was I abducted. Maybe.
Was I replaced. Unclear.
Am I now operating at a higher, more sparkly frequency. Absolutely.
If a slightly more confident, glitter forward version of me shows up and starts making bold choices, it’s fine, Glenda.
You will always be my mortal enemy.
It’s not my fault I think green, melted women are sexy.
You know what they say. Once you go green, embrace the lean. Don’t question it.
Apologies to Kermit for his omission from the greatest greens of all time last week.
Kermy, can you play a wicked witch not named Glenda. I need versatility.
👉 Grab your Tab Zero. Strap on your snazziest Bud Light Lime visor, Becca.
👉 Buckle the fuck up, buttercup. We’re doing this.