I have been on a complete country cowboy kick lately. Then S. told me about her thanksgiving trip to Nashville and I was so jealous. I want to drink whiskey in a honkytonk with a guy yellin' "hhhhhheeeellllllllllllllllllll yeeeeeeeeeeeeyahhhhh!" In these boots.
I Want That. So Bad.
This just in: I'm changing the holiday season into a Countrytime Christmas. That's right, bring your cowboy boots and your pink lemonade cause we're gonna spike it with vodka and listen to Garth Brooks. And just so we're all clear: I'm talking Reba-Country and not Foxworthy-Redneck here. Actually, i'm talking Carrie Underwood holy hotness country here.
It occurs to me every once in awhile that I might just be a southern belle stuck in a fast-talkin' yankee bitch body. This is one of those whiles.
I am now trying to decide if i can stay brunette or if i'm going to have to strip my hair and bleach it blonde. Sorry, Martina.
1 comment:
I'm going to go ahead and tell you this. You don't need those. I promise.
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