Woman Risks Decapitation for Shoes....

"Don't call the doctor, don't call your mama, don't call the preacherman, naw, Cause honey, I don't need it....Oooh, I don't need no cure, I don't need no cure..NAW!!...I don't need it!..Miss Ross, The Boss

Ain't no sense in calling nobody, cause it don't matter. I likes ME just the way ME loves ME some SHOES. My love for material things, in particular, SHOES, is going to have my little broke down, yellow sunshiny, ass in the Po House or being chased by THE Po-Po. Umm, hmmm, duh, um CHEAH! Ain't got that bad yet, but hey, crack addicts started with one hit too...and we see how DAT turned out, now don't we? They epidemic asses with their warehouse lines brought The Po-Po down on the Game and can't nobody get no money no more. Broads ain't had a good date since the 90's, hot boys everywhere shooting for any thang and niccas ain't giving up NUN-SHANG or a dayum thang. Still, you know the drill.....notha story, notha day...SMMFHH! I wish a motha fuka WOULD ask me for a quarter. They are the main reason why I ain't GOT no spare change...BEEYOTCHES!

To get to the lesson (or call for help) in today's post...as there IS always a lesson, suga pie..... (even though some of you may take a little longer to catch it).....we are going to take a little walk in my shoes on da real. Wait a minute...what shu say? You didn't know there was a lesson to be learned in my posts? Oooh shree now, Punkin!! Maybe you should just tap on that little red box with the white X and exit stage right. You ain't doing nothing but taking up space on my ish, especially, if you ain't getting ish out of it. Now beat it! I'll wait. So, here we go now, come on.......

I am really starting to wonder about this whole shitty sharp thang. I just cannot stand NOT being absolutely fabulously, FLY. There, I said it! Ohyesdisbeeyotchdid! And, this would also be why I am inclined to believes I just may really have a problem too....a BIG one. SMDH The reason being is that I have a whole buncha sharp ass gear in my closet, but yet I cannot seem to stop getting more. I mean I pops tags dayum near erry time I hit dat door! Yeah, I do. And considering I grew up the sunshine of my Papi's eye, my brothers' hearts and my Mommy's pocketbook, I got whatever the hayell I wanted. So, why is my need to shop like an "Itching in My Heart?"....Diana Ross with The Supremes, this time. I'm saying dis broad over here aint' NEVA been sharply challenged or gear insufficient EVA in life, so WHY, WHY, WHY? WHY LAWWWD?! Why do I act like I ain't used to having nothing, when I have ALWAYS had dayum nair errythang?

After Papi and the Five Heartbeats (my brothers) stopped buying it, my men with the warehouse lines bought it. (Plead Da fifth!) Nevertheless, I STILL bought for myself too. Even after my sperm donor dropped off his seed, I did not miss a beat. As a matter of fact, Mami's baby became the next generation of flyness. I was like, "Hayell, I'm fly, so my baby gotsta be fly too." And, she was a girl too? Oh hayell yeah!! All accessories on GO, including babies. I used to hook her up royally. I'm talking bout she had at least 25 pair of shoes and babygirl could not even WALK and had not been in the world for more than 25 days. She had Jordans, Stride Rites, Osh Kosh, Guess, Nine West, K-Swiss, Nikes, Reeboks, Timberlands, you name it, she had it! I was not playing with her getting it in. Dayum skippy!!

Now, the point is: I have never been indigent (nor my baby), never missed any meals (nor my baby) or had crackhead parents (DAYUM SURE NOR HAVE MY BABY!)....so why do I shop like a banshee or a fool who think Jimmy Choo is the new penny candy? Did my parents and my brothers create this monster? Then, hayell, maybe, "I Was Born This Way?.....Carl Bean, Chicago House. Or, (LAWD HAMMERCY!) could I possibly be using my clothes to cover up not only my outsides, but my insides too? Am I on that self-tripping ish again? Are clothes my crack? If so, I am in REAL trouble...like the type where you done bought that lavender sandal, but it don't go with that purple dress you were trying for. So, NOW you gotta go and find something to go with the purple dress, but you ain't got no more credit til Friday. Yeah, um, hmm, that kinda trouble. WOW!

For example, the other day I was putting up a shelf in my closet to hold my purses and shoes. Mind you, I have an armoire, two trunks, three tubs and four underbed cases to hold my shoes. But, it still ain't enough. I needed some MORE space. So, why as I was trying to put up that fukn shelf for dem shoes, that sumbitch fell down on my head? Motha fukr! After about 20 minutes, my head was pounding like a BIATCH! Finally, I decided to take my crazy ass to the emergency room. My island turquoise Calvin Klein silk sheath had started to look like a plain light blue dress. Awww sheeet now!! As I was hailing a cab, I just kept thinking about that actress who died in that ski accident from hitting her head, after walking away from it calm and clear. I know the nurses thought I was calm and clear crazy too. I walked in and literally said, "Um, excuse me, but I have a concussion." The check-in lady had to do a double-take. She said, "Are you sure?" I went, "Heffa, do you think I would be standing up here in this pissy ass hospital at three in the fukn morning, if I didn't think I did? My fukn shoe shelf done fell down on my head. Dayum!" Then I swooned and fell over.

And, child, that is when the party gotsta jumping....they threw me on the gurnee and started running, (YES RUNNING!) me to x-ray. Every time I nodded off (I was fukn sleepy, duh!), they started screaming and asking all kinds of questions. "Yes, I know my name and NO biatch, do NOT cut my hair!! You just gone have to operate THRU my curls." After about three sessions of dope fiend nodding and a happy talk informercial, this black older nurse came out of nowhere and said, "Um, MISSY, you need to shut it down and NOW." (Why bad black women always gotta swoop down on you? Dayum!!) At first, I thought, "Ohnodisbitchdidn't!" Then, I looked at her and she had this hard look on her face that said "DO NOT PLAY WITH ME!" I was like, "Whoa!" But she also had an unmistakable smile in her eyes which let me know I would eventually be ok whichever way the cookie crumbled. I also had this eerie feeling that if I didn't quit playing and did the fool on that nurse one mo gin, my own Mom would rise up out of Eads Cemetery in El Mempho and slap hot fiyah out my ass.....IF Nurse Bad Black Woman didn't get me first. In the end, I lived and Nurse BBW was the one who sat with me the whole time. She made me feel like my Mommy was there too. I was sho glad because I must admit I was just a tad bit scared I was going to see Mommy and Papi quicker than I liked. And all because of some daggone shoes!! Where was the justice in that? All I had left was the hope that my baby rocked my ish right and didn't cry on the Christian Louboutins. That silk is kinda funny, y'all. Tears can stain it. I thought about asking for the preacher to give dem shoes their last rites. Yup.

Anywho, after I dayum near took my head off with installing that shoe shelf, tell me why I still feel a need to spend this credit on some MORE shoes? And since two out of THREE clothing rods in my WALK-IN closet are separated from the wall and about to fall or has already fallen down from the weight of my clothes, why I still got ONE MO layaway I gotsta pick up on Friday? That's bananas, ain't it?! Chirl, with those observations, maybe I do need to go to a meeting or something. Is there anything out there like SSA, Shitty Sharp Anonymous or FAHA, Fly As Hayell Anonymous? "Hello, my name is Papizgirl and I have a problem. I cannot stop being fly and sharp." WTF?!! If this is true, suga, then I might as well be doomed. I'm going on to the big Nordstrom Rack and Sample Sale in the sky. Fuk it, "Don't Wake Me, I'm Dreaming"....Christopher Williams with his FOINE ass. Umm TASTY! Oops, sorry...lost track, but girl, that man can still get it, FER SURE.

I understand we are suppposed to be in a depression, but shid, I'm fine. The more I shop, the less depressed I am. I get depressed when I don't shop. I mean, am I wrong for walking around sanging, Ain't got no job, but I stay sharp. Can't pay my rent, cause all my money's spent. But that's okay, cause I'm Still Fly?"....Big Tymers in their heyday.

I honestly don't see the problem, Party People in the House. I'm just throwing this out here hypothetically, like maybe IF I did have a problem. But, if you think I need some therapy, just let me know. Now, I can tell you that Vicky Secretions and Bath & Body Works both got their half-yearly sale coming in June. And, honeybabychile, I can sho use that retail therapy right know. Just what the doctor ordered!! CHESS LAWD!! Hello talk to me now! Um, er, that was the type of therapy you would suggest, right? I mean, don't think about the concussion and stuff. I'm healed...(I think. A little Looney Tunes, but hey, that's natural for my family. I'm still functional. I can handle it.) Hayell, I say the money I would pay to the therapist, use it on some new bloomers and lotion instead. Ya feel me? I mean, what if another shelf or some other ish fall on my head and I gotta go back to the hospital? You know Muddear always say have on good draws and oil your heels just in case.

I'm just saying.....

SUMMATION:
Is shopping a legitimate illness, possibly curable with therapy and a 12-step program walked in 2 1/2" inch heels? If so, can you document any injuries from shopping and the consequences thereof as a legitimate medical leave therefore warranting a cash settlement or payment, i.e. busted lip from biting on diamond to verify its authenticity, concussion from storage arrangement slipping, busted knee from falling in 4 inch pumps, wrist sprain from pushing patron down who tried to take your size when there ain't but one and her big ass know she can't fit it no way, etc.? Or is this just some ish broke-ass hatas brought up because they asses can't shop, duck, dodge and stunt like "The Shitty Sharp Fly Ones"?

I'm thinking the possibilities are endless. You could prolly even include the injuries sustained when a "WOMAN RISKS DECAPITATION FOR SHOES."

And, there ya go........as always............................

In Parting, I wish you love, peace and SOUUULLLLLLL!!!

1 love, 2 fingers and 3 Kisses...I'm OUT!!