I married a brooding alcoholic. Ha ha, joke’s on me! But something about Pepito makes me forgive him EVERY time. Maybe it’s his herb man bracelet made of rosemary and thyme. No man should be able to pull off a manglet, but every time his tanned, sweaty wrist sports that thing, it sets me back ten arguments.
Last night at two in the morning, my Chartreuse-soaked husband and three of his closest amigos decided the pool house needed a bit of color.
What the hell? Zappas are for Rio crack dealers, and my shutters are OMBRE. Ombre belongs on twenty-year old models in Paris who think the no-pants trend is a good idea. Loves. Trends will always come back to haunt you. Never forget that.
So a little bubbly was Pepito’s attempt at making amends, and fine, I forgive you. Whitewash it all away tomorrow. For now, I will enjoy myself. Cheers, loves.
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