like a little bitch

I turned off the computer and got into my pj's. I waited all day to slip into bed and curl up to the "W magazine" sized promo piece for Topshop's opening ceremony: April 2nd!!!! I read it cover to cover, with an ever increasing knot in my stomach. My conscious: "I am a 29 year old woman, I have to go to work that day, I have responsibilities" ...but my lil' devil kept prancing around my head with various fantasy frocks in hand, as if his little hoofed half horse self could gallop back and forth to the racks as I stand in the dressing room of the future at the new Topshop. I was already calculatiing account transfers, pleading letters to family over the importance of my participation of the this fundamental cultural shift in New York street fashion, and that is why they should loan me hunderds of dollars. Man this has me in it's grip. That is exactly why I need to stand firm and realize that I will participate in some way: I am sending cosmic female rays into the mass of energy this fucking store opening is creating. Like a glittery pink cloud of hormonal uproar pluming above Soho.