Sorry folks, nothing to see here. Working on my applications tonight.
You have your charge: find me a rich husband. Well, what are you waiting for? If I’ve lived in several places where rich men also live (movie stars, politicians, and doctors) and it hasn’t just happened on its own, I obviously need a matchmaker. Lithuanian custom is to give the matchmaker a pair of shoes, and I’m more Lithuanian than anything else, so you get me a rich husband, the nicest pair you can find: yours, darling. Cross my heart. Louboutins, Manolos, vintage shelltoe superstars, whatever you want. Let’s just make this happen. It’s better for everyone this way. It’s like putting a poverty beast out of its misery.
Oh, and I’ll leave you with this gem. I asked this guy friend of mine the other day, “What would you be doing, in my place? You know, if you were me?”
“Playing with my breasts.”