Darling, darling, darling. As wonderful as this gorgeous ensemble is, I have to say that I'm disappointed. That shiny gold jacket (with faux-fur lining, natch)? Straight out of Janet Jackson's upcoming collection at Torrid. (That's the plus-size, even sluttier version of Hot Topic, for those of you unfamiliar with trashy suburban malls.)
The tight little Trix yogurt-colored top, stretched almost to its breaking point across your gorgeous, gorgeous uterine area? Flawless! (I especially like how close to your vagina you're holding your cigarette. Show those boys where you want it while you smoke away those food cravings, baby!)
The pink pants, lovingly gripping your subtle little cameltoe and fupa? Don't even TRY and tell me that didn't come from The OC's wardrobe department! (You know, from that flashback episode they never got around to airing where we find out that Julie Cooper was the product of a lovely little gastric bypass surgery back in the day.)
But those SHOES? Girl, where yo head at? You could have gone all-out here. No Uggs? No bedazzled Crocs? Not even a lovely pair of hooker boots? No. You had to settle for some boring old not-even-Lisa-Frank-colored sneakers. God, bitch. Way to rain on my parade.
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