P,
You can imagine my shock and surprise at hearing about your latest misfortunes, especially considering the recent sum you dropped at Urban Chic for that fabulous pair of blue jeans. My own mother might suggest that such failure to conserve one’s assets results in a well-deserved fall from grace, but I like to think it’s really more important that your well-embroidered ass looks good while you’re bumping along skid row. Little did I know you’ve managed to cover all your bases in that regard–if the pants must go, the signs of acupuncture should act much like a designer emblem once did.
If it’s only status you are seeking, however, I think you must consider purchasing a small plunger at the local Strosneiders. As I discovered, quite accidentally in an encounter with my own plumbing, said marks can be had for much less expenditure of resources. I do suppose I must start letting you in on my "fake it instead of make it" secrets as I fear my own fortunes, though appearing promising at the moment, seem to rest upon a man who, though dearly loved by most of his children, seems able to make huge sums of money for clients that translates into very little for us. How unethical is that?
In the meantime, please don’t worry about any of us, including R, exposing your dirty little secret. I think it may instead be more appropriate to start a "Poor Little Mothers in the ‘Hood" support group, an elite trifecta living steps from Gucci who are never included in their premiere events. How many others like us are there, and how can we ensure those among us who have great riches are, at the very least, truly miserable? All important agenda items for our monthly meetings which must, at the very least, include copious amounts of alcohol–at least enough for us to lure you into giving us a good look at that embellished rear end.
Faithfully,
C.
