Gabby Windey

It's in my second bedside drawer and currently on my lap serving the blast balls of my fascia that have doomed me.

Well, it was, but now I have the tights and I'm literally sweating.

But after some research, you know, and I have not been diagnosed with what I'm about to say for fear of embarrassment and a medical bill in which I do not have health insurance for, so I don't want to waste any more money.

I believe after the fascia blaster, a rupture of my fascia has, which has supposedly benignly been blasted.

First time, fine.

So the first time, first time, I was fine.

I blasted off each leg after a warm shower, maybe like a 10 to 7, you know, a pits, tits, and ass shower.

And the next day, it was my birthday celebration.

So to the chateau we go, you know, for a skinny margarita and a table full of tittles and tails about the guest of honor.

Me again.

So for my birthday, I will blast off, making me tight as a tiger for my vintage tailored, perfectly see-through, right at the nipple dress.

Birthday dress.

Gorgeous.

And I put the heating pad on before I start to get ready, which the directions say, mind you.

I was just following directions.

I then 360 blasted my delicate little legs, this time for an increased 1.5 minutes each because who has the time or energy for more seconds to the minute?

I have to blow out my split ends next.

But mind you, there was a lot of heat this time to allow for more damages.

Yes.

So my Capricorn birthday dinner commences, you know, with the baby cow of a veal and a gorgeous homemade birthday cake.