Ibsen would be proud.
I know what you must be thinking.”Wow,” you’re saying to yourself. “Those are some seriously rockin’ shoes Daisy has got there.” (These days, you think in ironic hipster slang. No, I don’t know why.) “But her legs look kind of funny. Has she lost weight? And why is the pile on the carpet so deep? Is it hard to vacuum that?”
Good questions, I reply. Also, were you aware that you’re speaking your thoughts out loud? Just thought you’d like to know. Anyway, the truth is that I do own these shoes, but I don’t wear them, because they don’t fit me. They fit this doll:
Who is, incidentally, dressed head-to-toe in Zac Posen and far more fabulous than I could ever hope to be. She lives in the room with my computer, and I would not be surprised if one of these nights she climbs up on the desk and writes a scathing indictment of my pathetic attempts at style, just because she can.