Bitchy Observations Monday
I am reading scripts today for a woman I shall call “Helen”. She has perched herself on the side of my desk to dispense her imitation pearls of wisdom and is not budging.
In case you were wondering: I need highlights, which would look super, like, I mean, totally incredible; men who are good drivers are good in bed; if you file down the heel on one of your shoes so it’s half an inch shorter than the other, your hips will sexily sway while you walk (and eventually, plummet down a flight of stairs and crack your skull open, but flirtatious like).
While I figure out how to get her off this desk, I’m going to try to catch a glimpse of her midsection and check for a navel. I am 85% certain that Helen was not born of woman, but hatched from an egg laid by Cosmopolitan magazine.
