On awards.

S: Are you wearing something fabulous tonight?

C: No, just a dress. Oh shit, that means I have to shave my legs.

S: You’d better shave your legs for the president!

C: W. probably won’t show up. Who’s going to look at them?

S: What if the president wants to touch them?!

C: Ex president. They don’t count as much. He may.

S: You have to let him! He’s the president!

C: Not anymore, but I would let him just because I think it would be cool to say the president felt me up.

S: I would totally let W. touch my legs. I let a bunch of drunk frat boys touch my legs for $100 in Panama City. I’d do it for Mr. President.

C: $100????? Why did they want to touch your legs?!? How far up did you let them go?

S: It was a hot legs contest. AND I WON, BITCHES. Well, I was wearing a bikini, so, uh, to about mid-thigh.

C: Wow, I wonder what it’s like to win a leg contest.

S: It’s mostly whoreish. But also awesome.

C: How do you ever have down moments about your looks?

S: I know my legs are great. Buuuuuuuuut I’d rather have a great face or a long neck or something.

C: You do have those things!

S: Well, those things haven’t won awards, so it’s hard to tell.

C: Nothing of mine has won awards!! Imagine how I feel.

S: The hot men you date are your awards.


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