I know I am not in New York any more, or even Long Island. But I need to ask: WHO IN THE HELL RAISED YOU PEOPLE??
Listen bitch. I see you in your SUV with your designer rugrats in tow. I let you cut me off in traffic and smirk because I know your secret: You are just as fake as your double mortgaged McMansion and leased cookie-cutter Mercedes. I had your number the minute I spied you in the parking lot carrying a Goach bag. Yes bitch, I know. Maybe if you blew your husband once in awhile he would buy you the real thing. And that little bit of advice leads me to rant:
Coach (the real thing) isn’t all that. Nothing screams sad suburban housewife louder than trying to strut around showing off a so/so bag.
Satin should not be worn in the office. Ever.
When did ‘middle aged latina’ become interchangeable with ‘slut’ ? I am begging you to prove that statement to be an unfair stereotype. Put down the blue eyeshadow, the hoochi skirt, the peep toed pumps, and the hair jewelry. If your dream is to be a Bronx crack-ho, then by all means go for it. However if you want to do pink collar work please do it in neutrals or pastels.
The only two times it is ever acceptable to receive flowers at work are if you win the Kentucky Derby or you die, at work, in that very spot — in that case teddy bear shrines and flowers are okay.
If you have to ask “Am I too old to wear this?” then yes, you are. And even if you are 25 spandex is not your friend, consider it satin’s slightly less tacky cousin.
Home perms were designed to oppress women.
Put the cell phone down. No one cares who has to be a soccer practice or when your next gyno appointment is. Oblivious cell phone gabbing is worse than mis-matched prints and teddy bear appliqued sweaters put together (e gads my eyes).
Now, I know everyone has a bad day or the occasional ill-considered outfit, to you my sisters I feel your pain. But to those who insist on being a walking fashion felony day in day out, I must ask: WHO IN THE HELL RAISED YOU PEOPLE ??????