[With-It Babe to Self:]
Okay, now, have I got what it takes to be With It?
Zebra-print tights. Check.
No underwear. Check.
Dyed, tinted, frosted, tipped, streaked, razor-cut, heat-treated, curled hairdo. Check.
$212 all-the-rage earbuds. Check.
Limited edition designer sunglasses perched on hair. Check.
Special-order early delivery 5G smart phone with built-in ‘Lap 'O' Luxury’ vibrator. Check.
Herbal tea & ginseng & wacky weed cigarette. Check.
Keys to Fat Alfred’s import. Check.
False nails of platinum powder in ‘Screamin' Cherry’ resin. Check.
Suede crumpled-collar high-heeled FM boots. Check.
Whatever the hell that $650-an-ounce fragrance is. Check.
Recently ingested burstin’ onion, diet soda, platter of wings, appleteeni and cheesecake warehouse sampler platter. Check.
Nipple rings. Check.
Patent leather fetish slicker with real endangered snow leopard collar. Check.
Platinum card in left rear hip pocket. Check.
Black card in right rear hip pocket. Check.
Gold card in right front slicker pocket. Check.
Casually crumpled wad of benjamins in left front slicker pocket. Check.
Plastic surgeon on speed dial. Check.
Daddy’s lawyer on other speed dial. Check.
41 flavors delivery on other, other speed dial. Check.
Good. That’s everything! You are now totally With It, girl!