I Do Not Bite On Sundays

Did brunch this morning in skinny jeans, (i looked fat in them) ‘boots with the fur,’ ( i was too cool for school) a squeezy tight, too small, dark pink top and some rug of madness furry beige coat!! I really did look like a slutty eskimo. If i was an Eskimo…I’d be a Slut. I’d be cold….but i’d be a slut. It was devastatingly delicious. Plus, i had what looked like 2 giant chandeliers hanging off my ears! Diamantes ROCK!! Brunch in Yorkshire, is never very pleasing. In LA, it’s usually a Sunday morning on the patio of ‘Toast,’ or ‘Kings Rd’ or ‘Urth cafe,’ maybe even ‘The Griddle cafe’ (if you can be arsed to wait for pancakes.) The places are full of the same hotties you partied with the night before, all doing the ‘walk of shame,’ all dying of dehydration and all hiding behind giant sunglasses. But it’s FUN! Brunch in Yorkshire is very different. The only ‘sun’ you have is the newspaper and a cape of shoddy interior lighting. There’s a distinct lack of  glamourous hotties and the places are filled with toothless pensioners and sticky faced 5 year olds…all sipping tropical Capri-Suns. Hilarious! (I am weeping on the inside.) KILL ME! Who said that??

I shopped like the Queen of ‘Money Grows on Trees’ today and it’s starting to get worrying. I’m turning into a spendthrift. I really can’t stop spending! I get like this sometimes. I’m buying everything and anything and for no other reason than…well if i knew the reason i wouldn’t be doing it right?? It needs to stop! And i’m not even joking! I’m trundling out with bags and bags of McJunk and without a blink of an eye! (Therapy is a calling.) I’ve limited myself to one day of shopping. That’s Sunday and in Doncaster. (Eww…i’m sipping on an apple mango flavoured ‘J2o.’ Apple & Mango just doesn’t go! I feel like i’m sucking on an old mans toe. Or maybe i just don’t get it because it isn’t laced with Grey Goose??) Ugh, i’m tragic..i could cry! AND i feel fat!

I almost died today because as i was shopping i felt as though no-one was staring at ME. (haha) For a minute there i thought i’was losing my touch. Then luckily, (in the nik of time) i looked up, turned around and realized i had a small huddle of eyes watching Me. I sighed with relief, (Loser) then carried on spending my fine unearned pences on face bronzer. It’s weird because boys will spot me, stand behind me, yet not dare to talk to me and think of a cunning plan to make me notice them. Today a shy diddly-bum of teenage males stood behind me, at ‘W H Smiths’ and started going on about an Oriental glamour model, who writes this dirty blog, and how ‘Carry On’ films turn them on….then went through sentences that involve the word ‘WUNNA’ in them. Therefore, i turned around, with my umimpressed eyebrows (deliberately to make them feel like tits) their faces went red and they finally asked for me to sign stuff, as i posed for pictures with them on their cell phones. I don’t bite…. on Sundays. There’s no need to be scared. You CAN come up and talk to me normally. I WILL respond. I’m not a dick, i’m a walking, talking, 5 ft 3, fake tanned bundle of boobies and eyelashes! I love you…without you, my boob job was pointless…lol.

The Biggest Kisses,

Chrissie Wunna

3 thoughts on “I Do Not Bite On Sundays”

  1. first of sceptics cant drink for shit babe u get a sceptic fridge and an english geeza and have a drink of we will drink em under the table while smashing the grannie out of the fellas bird lol. brek in la does sound the bollox though a lot better than a greasey spoon in nam or the ill. u vwill always have people looking at u babe u are a proper sot chrissie. if i ever see u out and a bout i will say wos’appening me old china and take u down the boozer for a few cheeky light ales and of course a few glasses of the pink stuff for your good self lol . have a mustard week chrissie me old mucka me old fucka


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