In the News
I’ve been reading a lot of news recently. Four papers a day in fact. I can’t help it, there’s the three free papers that get thrown at me while I’m travelling during the day and the one waiting for me when I get in. I’ve come to the conclusion that my the guy who collects my recycling either thinks “wow she reads a lot of news” or “for fucks sake how much more do I have to carry down the bastard street”. I think I’m becoming a news junkie.
Good thing or bad thing?
Something I’ve seen a lot of is this size zero debate. Now I’m nowhere near a size zero and you know what? I don’t want to be! I know that some women have naturally smaller frames than others and so are slimmer but a size zero just isn’t natural and to be that small will take serious dieting that just doesn’t seem right to me.
By all means be as slim as you want but don’t make yourself ill over it. Now I know I say I don’t want to be a size zero, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely happy with my body shape (I don’t know many women that are). You know how you get over it? You flaunt what you have. You walk like those size zero models do but you swing the hips they haven’t got, you plump up the boobs they wish they had and when you bend down you stick out that booty of yours and give it a wiggle - cos you know what? They just can’t do it!
I walk with much more confidence than I actually feel. I smile at every man that looks at me (most of they smile back). I sling my bag over my shoulder and walk like I own the world – no one will ever know that I don’t like anything about me and as long as they don’t know that - I’ll look great to them.
You do NOT need to be stick thin to look good.
Now I’m going to go and dig into a double chocolate chip muffin, you won’t tell anyone right?
Good thing or bad thing?
Something I’ve seen a lot of is this size zero debate. Now I’m nowhere near a size zero and you know what? I don’t want to be! I know that some women have naturally smaller frames than others and so are slimmer but a size zero just isn’t natural and to be that small will take serious dieting that just doesn’t seem right to me.
By all means be as slim as you want but don’t make yourself ill over it. Now I know I say I don’t want to be a size zero, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely happy with my body shape (I don’t know many women that are). You know how you get over it? You flaunt what you have. You walk like those size zero models do but you swing the hips they haven’t got, you plump up the boobs they wish they had and when you bend down you stick out that booty of yours and give it a wiggle - cos you know what? They just can’t do it!
I walk with much more confidence than I actually feel. I smile at every man that looks at me (most of they smile back). I sling my bag over my shoulder and walk like I own the world – no one will ever know that I don’t like anything about me and as long as they don’t know that - I’ll look great to them.
You do NOT need to be stick thin to look good.
Now I’m going to go and dig into a double chocolate chip muffin, you won’t tell anyone right?
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Monday, September 25, 2006
Do Not Stare!
It’s one of those fundamental rules on the underground.
Under no circumstances whatsoever may you stare at anyone else or make eye contact for longer than the nanosecond it takes to sweep your eyes across the carriage to find a seat.
Now I’m usually pretty good at obeying this rule; when on my own I plunge myself into my book (always have one) or read whatever paper I manage to snatch off the seat before I park my bum in it. Today may have been a bit of an exception.
I had a book. I had a paper. I also had my iPod and plenty of work that I could have tried to do despite the constant bumping and shuddering of the train. But something else took my attention. Someone decided to stand in front of me and hold onto the overhead bar while reading his book. This someone was wearing relatively loose trousers that allowed everything to lean wherever it wanted to. This someone also had a bit of an erection going on. In. My. Eye. Line.
OK I broke the rule.
Under no circumstances whatsoever may you stare at anyone else or make eye contact for longer than the nanosecond it takes to sweep your eyes across the carriage to find a seat.
Now I’m usually pretty good at obeying this rule; when on my own I plunge myself into my book (always have one) or read whatever paper I manage to snatch off the seat before I park my bum in it. Today may have been a bit of an exception.
I had a book. I had a paper. I also had my iPod and plenty of work that I could have tried to do despite the constant bumping and shuddering of the train. But something else took my attention. Someone decided to stand in front of me and hold onto the overhead bar while reading his book. This someone was wearing relatively loose trousers that allowed everything to lean wherever it wanted to. This someone also had a bit of an erection going on. In. My. Eye. Line.
OK I broke the rule.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Washing??
Today I’m a domestic Kit and I hate it. Yuk. Picked up last night at 11, home at 3 (don’t ask why I didn’t stay) and this morning I realise I really have to do my washing. It really was one of the saddest days of my life when my mum turned round and said she was no longer my own personal laundry service *Insert single tear of lost childhood*. No but seriously now I cannot get used to it. All this making different piles for colours and whites. Not to mention the slightly darker colours and the silks that have to go on a cool wash. And hand washing! What the hell is that all about?! Then there’s how much time it takes up. I just can’t be arsed to do it. I mean I know I can just bung it in and press the button to get it started, it’s the going back and sorting in out that’s the problem.
Don’t even get me started on ironing.
Now I know why I haven’t had anything to wear for the past three weeks – because I haven’t done it and I’ve got no one to blame but myself (grumble grumble). So in my semi-comatose state that was me at 1pm today I managed to get a start on the huge pile that was blocking half of the space in my room. So far I’ve done two loads and I estimate another two to go. Tomorrow all things going right I’ll have some decent jeans to wear and some even better undies to wear underneath. Yay.
Maybe one day I’ll actually do this on a regular basis.
Oh and gub gub… I know it’s going to smack me in the face here but I gotta ask. Johnnie’s?
Don’t even get me started on ironing.
Now I know why I haven’t had anything to wear for the past three weeks – because I haven’t done it and I’ve got no one to blame but myself (grumble grumble). So in my semi-comatose state that was me at 1pm today I managed to get a start on the huge pile that was blocking half of the space in my room. So far I’ve done two loads and I estimate another two to go. Tomorrow all things going right I’ll have some decent jeans to wear and some even better undies to wear underneath. Yay.
Maybe one day I’ll actually do this on a regular basis.
Oh and gub gub… I know it’s going to smack me in the face here but I gotta ask. Johnnie’s?
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Over
It was a relationship that was doomed from the very start. I had thought that it might last for a little longer than it has but I was wrong. It’s all over. After just a couple of months its finished. Kaput. Done and dusted.
I’m not upset, far from it. It was an experience and I’ve certainly done things during the past few months that I wouldn’t have done before and maybe I won’t do them again. Maybe I will. But like I said – doomed from the start and there’s certainly no point in crying over spilt cappuccino.
I decided many years ago that I would never drink. I’ve seen some very unpleasant drunks in my life and I had no desire to be one of them. Neither did I have the desire to be so out of my own mind that I couldn’t remember what I’d been doing the night before. I stuck to this decision until three months ago. Then for some reason I thought I want to drink, not get off my face piss-arsed, just try it. I suppose it’s like when people decide that they are never going to be with anyone but the person they lost their virginity to; there is always a wondering of what it might be like with someone else. So I wanted to know what it would be like to go out with my friends and join in with the drinks.
Well I’ve decided I don’t like it. I’ve come to pretty much the same conclusions I’ve had since I was twelve years old and I saw my uncle passed out on my sofa. I don’t need a drink to have fun and I really don’t like feeling like my head doesn’t belong to my body anymore. Sure there are certain things that become easier to do when you’ve had a drink, but perhaps there is a reason I wouldn’t normally do those things and maybe I should be listening to that voice of reason in my mind – she’s a smart girl in there after all.
So from now on it’s just the Bloke Indoors and me, Jack’s way outta the picture and I couldn’t be happier about it.
Oooh and now I don’t have to worry about tripping over my own heels as I walk down the stairs of clubs either! Life is good.
I’m not upset, far from it. It was an experience and I’ve certainly done things during the past few months that I wouldn’t have done before and maybe I won’t do them again. Maybe I will. But like I said – doomed from the start and there’s certainly no point in crying over spilt cappuccino.
I decided many years ago that I would never drink. I’ve seen some very unpleasant drunks in my life and I had no desire to be one of them. Neither did I have the desire to be so out of my own mind that I couldn’t remember what I’d been doing the night before. I stuck to this decision until three months ago. Then for some reason I thought I want to drink, not get off my face piss-arsed, just try it. I suppose it’s like when people decide that they are never going to be with anyone but the person they lost their virginity to; there is always a wondering of what it might be like with someone else. So I wanted to know what it would be like to go out with my friends and join in with the drinks.
Well I’ve decided I don’t like it. I’ve come to pretty much the same conclusions I’ve had since I was twelve years old and I saw my uncle passed out on my sofa. I don’t need a drink to have fun and I really don’t like feeling like my head doesn’t belong to my body anymore. Sure there are certain things that become easier to do when you’ve had a drink, but perhaps there is a reason I wouldn’t normally do those things and maybe I should be listening to that voice of reason in my mind – she’s a smart girl in there after all.
So from now on it’s just the Bloke Indoors and me, Jack’s way outta the picture and I couldn’t be happier about it.
Oooh and now I don’t have to worry about tripping over my own heels as I walk down the stairs of clubs either! Life is good.
Friday, September 22, 2006
A new experience
I really shouldn’t be happy about what happened to me today but I am so there. Deal with it.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t get masses of attention from men as I walk down the street, but I get some and I’m happy with what I get (after all I have my Bloke). The one thing I’ve never had though, is attention from a proper builder and for some strange reason that bugged me.
Today I got it – yay. Wolf whistle and comment, I’m a happy Kit.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t get masses of attention from men as I walk down the street, but I get some and I’m happy with what I get (after all I have my Bloke). The one thing I’ve never had though, is attention from a proper builder and for some strange reason that bugged me.
Today I got it – yay. Wolf whistle and comment, I’m a happy Kit.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Explain
Why oh why is there a character limit for text messages? It drives me completely scatty it really does. Especially when I’m in the middle of a rather juicy piece of text sex and run out of space to complete my thoughts.
I know sometimes the best way to write this kind of text is to say I want to suck a cock and if you want it to be yours get home now but sometimes that just isn’t an option and I’m going to put as much into that text as possible. When I let my imagination go and I’m writing a full on cock throbbing, pussy dripping piece of erotica I don’t want to have to spread it out over two or three pages. It just isn’t the same. It’s the same when you receive a message too, you don’t want to be getting into it, feel that throbbing sensation in your knickers as you scroll downwards only to have to wait five minutes for another message to come through to finish it (and you) off.
Case in point:
Tuesday. I’m sitting in a chemistry lesson that isn’t finishing anytime the next century when I feel a vibration (no not that kind of vibration – though has anyone tried the SMS activated vibrators?). Quick peek under the table reveals the Bloke Indoors is still in bed at 12:15 and isn’t in the mood for daytime television. He went on to describe everything that he was going to do to me later on, and, more to the point, everything he was going to make me do to him (love it). Unfortunately the very last line was something like with your legs above your head, the purple vibe gently pulsing in your pussy I’ll slowly slide my glistening cock into your arse, god you’ll be so tight like that, slowly at first, pushing down on the pur…
And it stopped.
Just like that. Perhaps it was a good thing because I know that (considering what was in the rest of the message) I was definitely no longer concentrating on polyamides and carboxylic acids and was much more concerned with the other more important substance that was being formed in my la senza underwear – which as it happens are 97% polyamide (nylon – yuk, but what ya gonna do when you haven’t done any washing for 3 weeks?).
Not only did I have to wait another five minutes to get the completed version of my Tuesday afternoon Bloke Indoorsesque sexual narrative, but I had to send three separate texts of my own back in order to reply and send him back something to keep him occupied til I got home. I know I could have sent him and email, and if I’d gone for a walk I could have even found a nice little quiet spot for a phone call but that’s just not the point. Get rid of the frigging character limit!
I know sometimes the best way to write this kind of text is to say I want to suck a cock and if you want it to be yours get home now but sometimes that just isn’t an option and I’m going to put as much into that text as possible. When I let my imagination go and I’m writing a full on cock throbbing, pussy dripping piece of erotica I don’t want to have to spread it out over two or three pages. It just isn’t the same. It’s the same when you receive a message too, you don’t want to be getting into it, feel that throbbing sensation in your knickers as you scroll downwards only to have to wait five minutes for another message to come through to finish it (and you) off.
Case in point:
Tuesday. I’m sitting in a chemistry lesson that isn’t finishing anytime the next century when I feel a vibration (no not that kind of vibration – though has anyone tried the SMS activated vibrators?). Quick peek under the table reveals the Bloke Indoors is still in bed at 12:15 and isn’t in the mood for daytime television. He went on to describe everything that he was going to do to me later on, and, more to the point, everything he was going to make me do to him (love it). Unfortunately the very last line was something like with your legs above your head, the purple vibe gently pulsing in your pussy I’ll slowly slide my glistening cock into your arse, god you’ll be so tight like that, slowly at first, pushing down on the pur…
And it stopped.
Just like that. Perhaps it was a good thing because I know that (considering what was in the rest of the message) I was definitely no longer concentrating on polyamides and carboxylic acids and was much more concerned with the other more important substance that was being formed in my la senza underwear – which as it happens are 97% polyamide (nylon – yuk, but what ya gonna do when you haven’t done any washing for 3 weeks?).
Not only did I have to wait another five minutes to get the completed version of my Tuesday afternoon Bloke Indoorsesque sexual narrative, but I had to send three separate texts of my own back in order to reply and send him back something to keep him occupied til I got home. I know I could have sent him and email, and if I’d gone for a walk I could have even found a nice little quiet spot for a phone call but that’s just not the point. Get rid of the frigging character limit!
Monday, September 18, 2006
I'm a real blogger!
YAY!
2 whole comments just for me! OK so both of them were out of pity but I don't care!
I'm a real blogger!
OK calm now.
Back to reality.
Woohoo!
Sorry little slip there, normal literary service should hopefully resume when my face muscles relax to such that my eyes can see what I'm typing.
Time to go and see Jack.
Then see if the Bloke wants some help with his jeans - he seems to be wearing them far too much recently you see.
Second thoughts: who needs Jack...The Bloke Indoors can take me places Jack hasn't even dreamt about hehehe.
See you soon!
2 whole comments just for me! OK so both of them were out of pity but I don't care!
I'm a real blogger!
OK calm now.
Back to reality.
Woohoo!
Sorry little slip there, normal literary service should hopefully resume when my face muscles relax to such that my eyes can see what I'm typing.
Time to go and see Jack.
Then see if the Bloke wants some help with his jeans - he seems to be wearing them far too much recently you see.
Second thoughts: who needs Jack...The Bloke Indoors can take me places Jack hasn't even dreamt about hehehe.
See you soon!
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Hmmm
Well I know there are people out there, that counter works. But I do wonder how long anyone visiting happens to actually spend here and what they think?
Well guess what? You can tell me!! Thats the point of the comment box and I've even added my email on the right hand side to help you along in case you're shy.
You're not a real blogger until you have comments and I wanna be a real girl, just like Pinocchio wanted to be a real boy, or something along those lines. So get to typing! (Please)
Well guess what? You can tell me!! Thats the point of the comment box and I've even added my email on the right hand side to help you along in case you're shy.
You're not a real blogger until you have comments and I wanna be a real girl, just like Pinocchio wanted to be a real boy, or something along those lines. So get to typing! (Please)
These Boots Were (NOT) Made For Walking
Have some sympathy for poor old Kit this weekend why don’t you folks. I can’t put on a pair of nice shoes and am instead left with a pair of scuffed up pair of converse to limp (and I do mean limp) about in for the next few days.
Why is it not possible for shoe makers to design a pair of nice dogtooth, 4 inch kitten heeled, boots that I can walk about in for 8 hours that wont leave me limping for 4 days afterwards, needing to soak my feet like an 80year old covered in plasters?
It’s not just the feet either, my ankles hurt and I where heels all the time. I don’t get aching ankles – I feel like a pregnant 80year old now, what’s going on??? I even twisted my ankle on a cracked piece of pavement at one point by my train station, completely lost balance and sent my bag flying. So much for a London Girl trying not to Trip Up hey? I don’t know about road resurfacing, how about a few new bits of pavement for poor *cough* souls like me and the rest of the heel wearing community?
Grumble. Grumble.
I could have (and have) cried. They were my favourite boots, now I don’t know if I can face them again. I’m a walker by nature, I use the tube or bus only when really necessary or with friends. I need shoes I can walk all day long in and not bleed into.
Not to worry – I’m a fast heeler and with a bit of extra special boots (the shop) foot care I’ll have prim and proper feet ready to be shown off to the world again.
Sorry for such a truly girly and quite yucky post, but a girl that can’t walk is a girl that has to moan.
Why is it not possible for shoe makers to design a pair of nice dogtooth, 4 inch kitten heeled, boots that I can walk about in for 8 hours that wont leave me limping for 4 days afterwards, needing to soak my feet like an 80year old covered in plasters?
It’s not just the feet either, my ankles hurt and I where heels all the time. I don’t get aching ankles – I feel like a pregnant 80year old now, what’s going on??? I even twisted my ankle on a cracked piece of pavement at one point by my train station, completely lost balance and sent my bag flying. So much for a London Girl trying not to Trip Up hey? I don’t know about road resurfacing, how about a few new bits of pavement for poor *cough* souls like me and the rest of the heel wearing community?
Grumble. Grumble.
I could have (and have) cried. They were my favourite boots, now I don’t know if I can face them again. I’m a walker by nature, I use the tube or bus only when really necessary or with friends. I need shoes I can walk all day long in and not bleed into.
Not to worry – I’m a fast heeler and with a bit of extra special boots (the shop) foot care I’ll have prim and proper feet ready to be shown off to the world again.
Sorry for such a truly girly and quite yucky post, but a girl that can’t walk is a girl that has to moan.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Smile!
Do you ever see those weird people on buses or trains that are smiling into space or out of the window? Well I was one of those people today. The weirdest thing? I don’t even know why I was smiling.
I had no reason whatsoever to be smiling – it was the middle of rush hour, I was squashed and standing on a packed and sweaty number 8 somewhere around Cheapside and I’d just had a row with the Bloke Indoors, but for some reason I was grinning like a Cheshire cat at anyone walking faster than the crawling bus. And I couldn’t have cared less.
Well at the time anyway, now I feel like a right prat.
I’ve been thinking over possible reasons for my overly grinningness. It may have been the sweating businessman next to me who was humming along to his iPod while practically doing a pole dance for everyone on the lower deck. Or perhaps it was the granny sitting three rows back giving a disapproving look to the canoodling couple sitting opposite her? Nah. More likely it was the guy who was sitting in those weird side on seats directly in front of me that are so low that every time he lent down to get something out of his bag his nose brushed the fly of my jeans! Seriously, just a little bit closer and a nice short skirt and a little bit of sneaky on-the-bus oral would have been quite easy.
I swear I tried to move out of his way but I couldn’t there just wasn’t space. I do wonder why he had to keep checking the same notebook over and over again, I didn’t see the point, even with the nose brushing.
The thing is though, I have to wonder is why it so strange to see someone smiling? Londoners are so bloody miserable it’s unbelievable. We see someone smiling in the street and we assume they’re nutters, fair enough if they’re yabbering into their hand which they’re holding to their ear like a mobile at the same time then maybe they aren’t quite right in the old braincase, but what’s wrong with a little bit of teeth baring?
I like smiling as I walk along but I get funny looks from people and that just isn’t nice! No. It’s not nice at all. Londoners are supposed to be accepting; yet people get moaned at for being overly affectionate in public and now for just smiling, it just isn’t right and I’m thoroughly fed up!
I like smiling and I like kissing and cuddling. And you know what? I like doing a lot, lot more than that too! I like to play with myself and (shhh don’t tell anyone but..) I like to have sex with men too! But I can’t do all of these while sitting on the bus or walking down the street.
Three out of five isn’t bad though right?
OK rant finished. Maybe they were right to stare at me today….
I had no reason whatsoever to be smiling – it was the middle of rush hour, I was squashed and standing on a packed and sweaty number 8 somewhere around Cheapside and I’d just had a row with the Bloke Indoors, but for some reason I was grinning like a Cheshire cat at anyone walking faster than the crawling bus. And I couldn’t have cared less.
Well at the time anyway, now I feel like a right prat.
I’ve been thinking over possible reasons for my overly grinningness. It may have been the sweating businessman next to me who was humming along to his iPod while practically doing a pole dance for everyone on the lower deck. Or perhaps it was the granny sitting three rows back giving a disapproving look to the canoodling couple sitting opposite her? Nah. More likely it was the guy who was sitting in those weird side on seats directly in front of me that are so low that every time he lent down to get something out of his bag his nose brushed the fly of my jeans! Seriously, just a little bit closer and a nice short skirt and a little bit of sneaky on-the-bus oral would have been quite easy.
I swear I tried to move out of his way but I couldn’t there just wasn’t space. I do wonder why he had to keep checking the same notebook over and over again, I didn’t see the point, even with the nose brushing.
The thing is though, I have to wonder is why it so strange to see someone smiling? Londoners are so bloody miserable it’s unbelievable. We see someone smiling in the street and we assume they’re nutters, fair enough if they’re yabbering into their hand which they’re holding to their ear like a mobile at the same time then maybe they aren’t quite right in the old braincase, but what’s wrong with a little bit of teeth baring?
I like smiling as I walk along but I get funny looks from people and that just isn’t nice! No. It’s not nice at all. Londoners are supposed to be accepting; yet people get moaned at for being overly affectionate in public and now for just smiling, it just isn’t right and I’m thoroughly fed up!
I like smiling and I like kissing and cuddling. And you know what? I like doing a lot, lot more than that too! I like to play with myself and (shhh don’t tell anyone but..) I like to have sex with men too! But I can’t do all of these while sitting on the bus or walking down the street.
Three out of five isn’t bad though right?
OK rant finished. Maybe they were right to stare at me today….
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Girl with a One Track Mind
A blog that my friends and I will rate among our favourites (as will many others I’m sure)
Two days ago the Bloke Indoors walks up to me with his hand behind his back and a silly grin on his face. I run through the obvious in my mind:
1. Flowers
2. Chocolates
3. A new vibrator he wants to try out before we go to the cinema
Any of these right? Nope.
From behind his back he pulls a copy of Abby Lee’s newly released book. I can’t help but giggle a little as I take it from him and plant a kiss on his lips.
“Its another one of those blog-book things” He says, still grinning like a Cheshire cat as I have a quick peek at some of the entries. “I thought you’d like it ‘cos it’s like the one that Katy leant you before; that prosy one”
Please do not take offence, he simply cannot remember the title of any book I have ever read unless he reads it straight after I do – he is referring to our very own Belle de Jour’s Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl the only way he can remember it.
I’m quite chuffed that he bought it for me. It shows he was thinking of me while he was out. It shows he was actually in a bookshop and not in a video game shop and that he knows what I like to read.
However…is he trying to tell me something? He could be saying that I’m just like Ms Lee and that all I ever do is think about sex (good or bad?), he could be saying that I might be able to pick up some tips in the book, he could even be saying that this is what woman are supposed to be like and why aren’t I one of them (nah can’t be). Or he could just have thought it would be a nice little gift because he knows that I like ‘blog-books’.
He is the nicest Bloke and it will be the last one (time to feel warm and fuzzy inside).
I wonder what he would think if he knew how long I’d actually been reading up on Abby’s adventures? I couldn’t tell him, he was so proud at finding the book that I couldn’t ruin his moment, maybe I’ll just send him the link some day.
I finished the book this morning by the way. Loved it. Go and buy it. Now.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Since I said I would
5-0 to England!!!!!
Me and Jack had some fun thanks to that.
Me and Jack had some fun thanks to that.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Apologies
I'm at my local internet cafe right now after just watching England play Andora...I will NOT tell anyone the score until tomorrow aren't I nice!
I haven't been around much the past few days due to technical problems hence the internet cafe that I'm typing my little nails away in right now. Has anyone else noticed how difficult it is to type on a keyboard that isn't yours? The keys just don't fit.
Anyhows I'll be back soonish with something to say hopefully. Right now I'm going to meet my mate Jack - some of you might even realise that my mate Jack isn't even of the human community and I'm already halfway through one meeting with him already tonight.
I would like to say on the plus side but I can't think of one so in the words of Winnie's mate Tigger Ta Ta For Now and a off I bounce down the road in my leopard print kitten heels with the red ribbon.
I haven't been around much the past few days due to technical problems hence the internet cafe that I'm typing my little nails away in right now. Has anyone else noticed how difficult it is to type on a keyboard that isn't yours? The keys just don't fit.
Anyhows I'll be back soonish with something to say hopefully. Right now I'm going to meet my mate Jack - some of you might even realise that my mate Jack isn't even of the human community and I'm already halfway through one meeting with him already tonight.
I would like to say on the plus side but I can't think of one so in the words of Winnie's mate Tigger Ta Ta For Now and a off I bounce down the road in my leopard print kitten heels with the red ribbon.
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