I'm sorry. I truly am, Miss Graham but you caught me at the wrong time, wrong mood and I feel this irrepressible need to bitch a little and you’re standing right there in your blue gown looking absolutely gorgeous. No doubt you’ve gone through a whole lot to put on that fabulous head-snapping look of yours….no doubt whatsoever.
Your makeup is fantastic, your hair is glistening. I can literally hear your beauty whispering into the ears of your male colleagues….you’re enchanting….bewitching (pardon my tendency to use ‘magical’ adverbs these days due to my inequitable fascination with Twilight, vampires, shapeshifters, Robert Pattinson and anything else related to the non-human world, albeit, boring humanity) but there’s something that’s really bothering me over here and I cannot forgive myself if I don’t say this.
I can’t. I have to.
Please, Miss Heather Graham, have you ever heard of something called Nipple Tape? No?
Gosh, go ask some of your male colleagues to go get it for you, then. Geez, you’re a sight.