I rode the elevator the other morning with a hooker and then I wrote about it on Facebook.
I was wearing my slippers, the tshirt I had slept in and a pair of sweatpants with my hair in a ratty ponytail, sleep still in my eyes, but lucid enough to remember to bring down my coffee mug with me.
She was in a leopard print mini dress, strappy gold high heeled sandals with blonde hair still mussed up in the back, retouched makeup and enough perfume to set off a smoke alarm, but she was lucid enough to steal the guy’s free newspaper and smart enough to take the back door leaving the hotel.
I bet she wrote about me on Facebook too:
I rode the elevator the other morning with a real slob.