Martha Stewart's "Bite Me!" Bodice, A-Z Challenge B

Hello, I'm Martha Stewart. But you already know that. What you might not know is that even us --Martha clears her throat-- mature women enjoy a good *bleep* now and then. So I stitched together a black underwire DDD-cup brassiere, a finely detailed leopard print mid-section slenderizing torso wrap, and a pair of basic black nylon thigh hugsies. As you can see, the resulting product is this elegant yet sultry and all-purpose "Bite Me!" Bodice. The cost is only $3,893. Oh wait, I hear one of my servants coming this way. Let's see how it works. Toodles.

                                         

Martha Stewart, Alphabetized and the IWSG

Happy April Fool's Day! Speaking of fools, Martha Stewart said this on TV in 2013: "Who are these bloggers? They're not editors at Vogue magazine. I mean, there are bloggers writing recipes that aren't tested, that aren't necessarily very good, or are copies of everything that really good editors have created and done. So bloggers create kind of a popularity, but they are not the experts, and we need to understand that."

In response, I said this. My point, and a message I wish to convey for April's IWSG, is: Laugh! Don't take yourself too seriously and go all snobby-clueless-fool like Martie. Someone might think you're an expert at something. Or request a gluten-free vegan homemade quiche. Or offer one. And you might land in the stony lonesome. (Thanks, JustKeepinItReal, for that phrase.)

Now, on with the show.

   

Hi, I'm Martha Stewart. Of course, you knew that. Everybody does. But perhaps you didn't know that I'm hosting the A to Z Challenge here, as an act of charity and to introduce my new 

Adult Lifestyle line. Pictured here, for the letter A, I'm wearing my

Attractive And Aesthetically Appeasing Anklet 

for House Arrest

I stole this beauty from Chico's Clothing Store in Chico, CA. That's the same city where the *bleep* who runs this blog lives. You see, I wanted to get a lay of the land or - well - a lay, but oh, those small town hicks aren't tasteful enough to bed me. But I have friends, and dogs, and batteries, and this jeweled anklet that shimmers with a delightful burst of bling. You'll find it especially useful for those times when you're under house-arrest and hosting what Lindsay Lohan and I like to call -Martha raises her index and middle fingers, then curls them over to indicate quotation marks- "tea" with the real housewives of Beverly Hills or New Haven, Connecticut. *Wink.*

Woman on the Verge, Meeting Prince Charming

   Seemed I'd finally found my Prince Charming.
   We met on a camping trip planned by mutual friends.
   I arrived late, the passenger of a lengthy car trip with Mr. Camptastic, who discussed the merits of a framed vs unframed (or is it vice versa?) backpack, while I fell asleep.
   My gal pal, Shira greeted me upon arrival, then introduced me to Justin. The two of them had set-up a tent for me. I had no camping equipment of my own. Still don't. [I bring the s'more ingredients whenever I camp. That's about it. That's all you need, I figure.]
   Here's the scene from my to-be-published book, Woman on the Verge of Paradise.
   I hope you enjoy. Have a good week, as we ask March, "Why must you leave so soon?"     
   Take care, my friends.~~~~~~

   Shira led me to a picnic table in the middle of the campsite.

   There, a man focused peacefully on an open book that was propped against a lantern. He appeared short and with fair features.     

   Justin wore a tan cowboy hat and dark leather jacket zipped up just enough to reveal a silver Jewish Star that graced a modest chain.  I’ve never been drawn to the Boot Barn type before, but he looked like a nice guy. And he gets bonus points for being Jewish, I thought.

   Shira broke his silence. "Justin, this is Robyn. Robyn, Justin."

   He placed the opened book face down. Justin’s eyes twinkled of an amber or hazel, I couldn’t quite tell at night. His smile was warm, as was his handshake.

   I looked down at his book and immediately knew that a connection with Justin not only invited, but required, my banter. "'Fabulous Small Jews by Joseph Epstein?' Talk about a short book. Are you in there?"

   Shira chuckled at my quip and looked towards the tents, likely contemplating leaving us alone.

   "I don’t know yet," he smirked. "I’m still reading." 

   "What’s that?" Shira asked, pointing at a mound of something resting near the fire-pit several yards away.

   Justin and I watched her walk over to it. Shira giggled, while she lifted two little things that looked like stunted logs.

   "Well, there’s a bootless little cowboy running around these here parts," she joked, walking back to us with a pair of children’s cowboy boots.

   "Oh, those are so cute and tiny!" I remarked.

   "Might they be yours, Miss Robyn?" Justin asked.

   "Very funny, Mr. Fabulous Small Jew."

   And so it had begun.

   At last.