Nu Shooz

I think Kim Wilde and Nu Shooz are the same being. Are? Were? Whatever.

I was "recognized" at the $9.99 shoe warehouse this evening by a very nice girl named Cindy. If you're reading this right now, it was nice meeting you. I've got a friend named Bandito who would fall in love with you on the spot, so I'll be sure to point him out to you the next time I see you so you know who to run from.

However, after this, I ordered a pizza from my local evil corporate pizza corporation, and was "recognized" by the driver. The driver who looked like he spent way too much time listening to Jim Croce, and had morphed into some kind of back-from-the-dead Croce-clone complete with mustache. This driver, dear friends, saw me in my jam-jams. I know you're imagining me wearing some kind of feathery-satiny-slinky thing around the house at night, but I can assure you I looked like an escaped Fly Girl from 1989. All that was missing was some knee pads, backwards suspenders, and a turned-up brimmed neon bicycling hat. At the very least, I wasn't wearing stirrup pants. I WAS wearing MC Hammer pants, but at least I wasn't wearing stirrup pants.

Such is life.

So, the moral of the story here, is that you should come to The Poorhouse tomorrow night and check out my new $9.99 spectator pumps...and make it count.

M