Dear Jesus, I'm writing, when I could be backbiting, 'cause I can't find a damn thing to wear. It's hard to be holy when this roly-poly can't get through to a single purveyor. And yet all Bushie's hacks say you're furnishing snacks to the EXTRA LARGE, MEDIUM and SMALL So they'll be as frustrated as we gals who are rated as TRIPLE XL at the Mall. Dear Lord & Taylor, I 'm no Barnum & Baylor. Help me dream the impossible dream. I won't be content in an elephant's tent, or some tights so damn tight I could scream. I've a much nicer waddle whenever I dawdle than an EXTRA LARGE, MEDIUM or SMALL, And might rate triple X, but you can't tell my sex 'cause I'm TRIPLE XL at the Mall. Dear R. H. Macy, I much prefer lacy although frilly will do for the Grinch. Any gal who's inflated and thinks she's X rated knows just what to do for a pinch. But a lacy or frilly feels perfectly silly when it's stuck half-way over my head, And sure drives me crazy as he lays there and asks, "Are you going or coming to bed?" Dear J.C. Penney, Why can't I find any? Don't you have any buyers my size? Don't they know that petite won't go over my feet, not to mention my calves or my thighs? For if they'd looked around, I'm sure they'd have found any EXTRA LARGE, MEDIUM or SMALL, Who thinks she's X-rated is eventually fated to be TRIPLE XL at the Mall. Bob Carlson |