Doomsday Hangover

So Doomsday didn’t actually happen. But it may as well have, what with Oprah going off the air and G graduating from pre-K. I mean, can you believe it? It seems like yesterday when she (Oprah) became a member of our family. And then we added Little G, and she insists on growing up. (What is up with these people moving on with their lives without considering the emotional burden on those surrounding them? Completely selfish, if you ask me.)

G insisted I dress up for graduation, so I brought my best. I even wore what my friend calls “valet shoes”, meaning you can only walk short distances in them. I was practically crippled halfway through the ceremony and resorted to sitting in one of those itty bitty Little Tykes chairs. Yes, this required my knees to rise higher than my ass. And yes, theoretically, my panties were most likely showing. Again.

Don’t you – no, don’t you dare! I feel you starting to judge me, and that’s not going to happen. Rather, I’m not going to feel your judgment. If you’d been wearing these evil 5-inch monstrosities, you would have sat (sitten?) your ass down, too. So you can go on and pass your judgment to Mr. Tommy Hilfiger, creator of H valet shoes. What an S.O.B! (except for the fact that he’s friends with Oprah, which surely makes us family. Auto-forgiveness. HOLLA!!)