Item! Commonwealth Break-ups Are All the Rage

I bought a pair of canvas shoes today. Black low-cut Converse. Fortunately, I found a place that sold them for what I believe is to be the reasonable (not really) price. I bought them from this joint, as opposed to the place that would gladly sodomize me [See Ass-rape Writ Fucking Large and University Book Store Purchases] for an additional 2 fins. Assbites.

Price is not an object. It should never be when one seeks the healing powers of RETAIL THERAPY. Bask in the warm glow of liberal market economy.

Why this silly therapeutic prescription? To assuage my embarrassment from my misguided attempt at a tactile platonic friendship that went bust without me ACTUALLY witnessing it. Seriously. I don't how it went from "What a fucking smashing Friday night" to "Why am I a fucking leper all of a sudden?" I cannot for the life of me, pinpoint the exact moment it went to hell. Nothing like being completely filled with regret and crippling self-doubt to launch a weekend without a fucking drop in the house.

But then, fuck it and fuck them. I got a new pair of shoes.