Last night, we went out to dinner. Don't laugh, but I had on a Wonder Woman t-shirt, a clingy cherry-red stripey tank dress, the violet-and-black stripey tights that Jo sent me, and glossy black boots. Oh, yes, and these fabulously killer chandelier earrings a friend got me from Target. I was standing outside the bar/restaurant, waiting for Sam to park the car, and two men walked out. One stopped and said to me, "Are you really Wonder Woman?"
Okay, so you have to know, I never ever ever remember what I'm wearing. I take a little time getting dressed and then — whoosh, I have no idea what clothes are on me at all. So I had no clue why he asked me this. I just stared at him over my shades and then his friend said, "Yeah, she's definitely Wonder Woman," and grinned.Sam joined me then, and the two men sauntered off. "What was that about, Wonder Woman?" Sam asked, and I stopped in my tracks, thinking — what the holy fuck? Why are all these men calling me Wonder Woman.
Oh. Yeah. The shirt.
Next time, I'm going as Spidey. No doubt about it.
XXX,
Alison
1 comment:
Meh heh. Maybe next time you should go as Smut Girl.
I still see no photographs. For a woman who's allegedly so proud of her ass, I don't see any stripey butts gracing these pages. What gives?
Everybody? What do we want? When do we want it?
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