I CAN HAS A PET FRISSON
HELLO. ‘Tis I, the Magnificent Minimalist. You may call me Wendy. I have a finely honed appreciation for FOCUS and DISCERNMENT. I appreciate these things very much. In fact, I appreciate them so much that on alternating blue moons I actually put into practice these skills. On those days I morph from an Internet-addicted caffeine fiend to a role model of practical, life-affirming, nearly sacred skills.
I rock that much.
Not this kind of rock.
And only occasionally this kind of rocking:
Only with more European-style class and a subdued, understated elegance and POISE.
My hobby, vocation, and and on-going pastime (when Facebook isn’t too engrossing and I don’t need to, like, work or something) is decluttering.
Oooh. Oooh. Say it. DECLUTTER. Do you have a frisson? ‘Cause I like totally have a frisson. I’m going to put it into my pocket now. Now I have a pet frisson.
What does a pet frisson look like? Funny you should ask.
This is a frisson:
His name is Roger. He likes pockets and also he likes hiding in my cleavage.
Because breasts are warm and soft.