Slutty Mrs. Claus was a classy classy broad

You know, initially I had the brilliant (or so I thought) idea to write this post entirely in limericks. You know, "There was an old lady in Prague/Whose legs were the size of a log/She put on pink boots/And heard hollers and hoots/Saying 'Damn that old bitch is a hog!'"

However, then I realized that while I take pride in my ability to write a limerick about just about anything or anyone, there's no way I could get through this post without using the word "cankles," and not even I can think of something that rhymes with cankles. Plan failed.

But really, old lady. I will give you credit for the fact that, as this picture just shows your legs, you don't appear old at first glance, but trust me on this one. You are making so, so, so many poor choices here with your footwear.

First, you are wearing boots with a (relatively) short skirt. Which is it, old lady? Is it cold enough that you need boots or warm enough to wear knee-length skirts? Make up your damn mind!

Second, you are wearing pale pink boots with a reddish-pink skirt. Even if you looked out the window and decided "It looks pretty warm... but my feet might get cold!", why would you then pick two colors so gratingly close to matching... but not quite? Just because two colors both appear somewhere in your cardiovascular system does not mean they match.

Third... fur. On your boots. As if the incredibly stumpifying place they hit your calf isn't bad enough, you had to poof them out even further with the remains of a cute animal. Tacky, tacky, tacky. Three strikes... you're out!