..is that I am starting to properly shit myself for Sunday. I'm shaking in my doondies, and I fear binge-drinking, for once, won't help the situation.
Also, apparently being a tree hugger isn't all that. For boyfriends anyway.
It's not like I'm wearing tie-dye and hemp, living in a treehouse off Jellicoe Avenue, burning my bra and putting sugar into the petrol tanks of the chopper machines. I'm still a somewhat de rigeur fashionista tree hugger, like today, in white mock croc six inch heels.