 |
| Source: Justin Smith via Wikipedia. Obtained under a Creative Commons License. |
I caught the last volleys of your 2nd round win in the wee hours of the morning, and I had to blink a couple of times to make sure that I wasn't imagining things.
I just don't understand it. You have a shape that most of us would die for.
You're mind-bogglingly rich.
You and your sister are literally the baddest chicks in the tennis game.
And you call yourself a fashion designer.
So why are you competing in clothes better suited to two-dollar hookers?
Are you rebelling against your Jehovah's Witness upbringing?
Or, is this your way of continuing to give the middle finger to the tennis elite who were hostile to your family?
Whatever it is, we're going to need you to get over it.
You're 30 now. It isn't cute anymore.
Little girls are looking up to you. Do you really want them to copy that monstrosity?
Silver platters and gleaming trophies are the only eye-catching accessories you need to worry about.
P.S. Nip concealers are a must when wearing spandex. Band-aids can do the job too.
No comments:
Post a Comment