I’m sitting at a real city café! The coffee costs so much that when the cashier told me the price I thought she was selling me an annual membership. The seats are super uncomfortable wooden blocks that make me bless my weight because bony asses must suffer hellish tortures on them. But it’s a real city café in a real city with people actually passing by. I haven’t seen as many people in a year as I have already observed from the café.
The mirror showed me such an unexpectedly rosy face that at first I praised my new semi-liquid blush from Benefit. But then I realized that I’d just taken an hour-long walk outside in winter, and that’s what chased away my prison parlor.
I love wearing my convention badge. It must make me look very weird since I’m not at the convention and haven’t been yet. I don’t care, though, because wearing my name on my chest makes me feel important.
Clarissa's Blog 
But then I realized that I’d just taken an hour-long walk outside in winter, and that’s what chased away my prison parlor.
:))) The Prison Parlor sounds like 18th century house arrest for genteel ladies of breeding.
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Hee hee hee.
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