The Goods, The Clogs, and the Fugly
Word on the street is that some people (like her, and her, and her) make some cash by doing their thang on the internets. No. Not that thing. That's called porn, and I'm not talking about porn. I'm talking about something much more controversial. I'm talking about...sponsorship. Of which I have none.
That's not exactly true.
My mom sponsored a massage for me on Wednesday afternoon. And it was FANtastic.
The Visa corporation just sponsored a new pair of shoes and a bathing suit. Kidding honey! Kidding! About the kidding!
My job sponsors a lot of groceries and bills and sometimes some really, flaming, skull cracking headaches.
My not-a-blog habit sponsors my sanity.
And right this moment, the skirt I'm wearing is sponsoring a really painful, red divot along the left side of my midsection where the hook and eye closure is embedding itself into my too, too solid flesh.
Instead of getting paid to write about some of the material goods I love, I'm just going to go on ahead and sponsor my own bad self by filching it up from all the people who DO get paid to blog about the stuff they like. For what it's worth, these are all products I already own. I have absolutely NO idea why that should matter, but it seems like it was worth mentioning. Whatever.
Admit it, you've been dying to know what the WRH smells like.
My mother-in-law gave these to me for Mother's Day. Nobody shops like my mother-in-law. Made by Douglas Paquet. Never heard of him, but I like the shoes. Soft, they don't make my heels black, and the strap thingy doesn't rip into that oh-so-sensitive bit between the big and second toes. Special.
Not a combo I would have imagined, but it works.
Method cleaning products smell good. And they actually clean things. In a house where legitimate cleaning takes place as infrequently as it does at my house, this is useful.
Yes. It's cheese. But not just ANY cheese. It's Huntsman cheese.
Danskos. I'm not exactly bringing sexy back with these, but most days, I don't really care.
Unassuming medicinal-type lotion by day, powerful callous and cracked-heel busting megajuice by night.
Irish complexion, blue eyes, entire adolescence spent covering myself in baby oil and laying out between 10 and 2 = recipe for disaster. I'm all about the fake bake.
This is my favorite bag IN MY DREAMS. I don't actually own this except for IN MY DREAMS.
I promised some fugly in the title, so I threw in a little white leather. I don't actually own this one, either. Praise be.
I covet those flip flops .. they look comfy. As someone with big fat Fred Flinstone feet, I can appreciate the attention to detail for safeguarding the sensitive spot between toes #1 and 2.
And the cheese looks delicious ... it's going on my groc list for sunday. ... Babs Peapod
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I need to try this sponsorship thingy...
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