I wish I were a Lonely Girl
. Preferably Georgia. 'Cause look at her! Or maybe Seon. Yeah, Seon. OH whoamikidding. Of course
, Seon. If I were her, I'd buy all the O-check stationery available 'cause that's Korean and it's super awesome, have a very big burger, and burn it off by dancing around in my Lonely Lingerie all day long. Since she's 19
(estimate), I'd have to figure out how to fit in studying into my busy timetable as well. Which is a drag. But has to be done.
|Georgia from New York. Just posin' in a dingy backyard with some cherry blossoms. In her bra. No biggy.|
|Seon. In hot pink and and carefully arranged bedhead.|
Unfortunately for me, only a handful of the Lonely bras go up to a size 14 and the biggest cup size is 14C. Cool cool cool. I get it, Lonely. You guys want the bad girls in the Rihanna navy. Not the good grown woman from the Bey-Hive. Whatevs.
Since my 14D/36D money isn't good enough for your fancy bras, imma leave you to your super-hip, narrow-waisted early twenty-somethings with their jaggedy hipbones and boyish chests. I'll go home with my grown-woman paycheck, fulfilling professional career, and totally awesome range of satin Elle McPherson slips. I don't need you.
You know what? I don't need to buy your Lonely bras so that I can lovingly Instagram it with some flowers on a suitable neutral background. I. Do Not.
You know who else didn't need you? The Ancient Greeks. That's who! And they got along just fine re-styling marble columns with different fancy tops (Doric. Ionic. Corinthian), inventing the Olympic games, worshipping the gods, drinking a lot of wine, watching strange plays where mothers have sons that are in love with them (Gross, Oedipus) and daughters who want to kill them (Chill, Electra), and building this tiny, insignificant thing called the Parthenon.
But. Hey. I will buy your swimwear. 'Cause later on this year, I'm gonna float in the Dead Sea, be brat on a beach in Tel Aviv, and swim in a pool in Palm Springs. And I'm gonna need swimwear for that.