I was being facetious about the blogger fame to which I have ascended. I really was. Didjya think I was being all boasty and shit? Huh?
I won't lie. Some days I like to pretend I'm Rocks in My Dryer or Immoral Matriarch but then I think, why be a Saks when you can be a Harry's Drive-in? Sure, when you've reached cult blogmama status you get to sample fabulous purses, armchairs and gemstones and your life is all devour-my-brilliantness-my-lowly-peon-readers but come on, if I wasn't the wee little Mrs. Mullet I wouldn't have come home yesterday to find this:
Yes! The lovely people at Furminator saw my whiny post about my fat furballs and sent me a Furminator, some shampoo, and a spray bottle. Wasn't that nice of them?
Design Mom? She ain't got shit on me.
(Do I have my doubts that a five inch metal brush can tackle that beast to the right? Hell yes.)