New Jeans, New Attitude!

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    So all my clothes are worn out, ripped (and not in a good way) or lost.  At a Goodwill, a thrift I despise, I got a pair of like new jeans that fit me like a second skin, and are more like tights.  And tights work if you got the legs for 'em.  As Lucille Ball observed, the legs are the last to go.
   The demon prospect Greg is now facing having to wait for me to die on my own which means he has to wait to select another victim which means he has fucked up and Hell punishes failure.  Severely.  Anything that makes me just a little happier makes me a better bunny, er, person and that makes things a lot worse for Greg.  Greg faces death by bakery oven and, as we all know, Hell hath no furry like a Bunny Sconed!  Oh my. (wipes tears of laughter out of merry green eyes).
   The Domesday-like tome I have a foot on symbolizes my rejection of a lifetime of obsessive historical reading, I won't call it research, in favor of enjoying looking good in the time I have left.
    The belt in the above is a plastic chinese made faux leopard print two inches wide that would frighten a drag queen.  I think it looks great!
     At least on me.
 

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