Also, I'm beginning to suspect she guarded against a nip slip by supergluing her clothes to her boobs. And the way it wrinkles, I swear I see in her groin a mask that's a cross between an old hockey goalie and the Scream dude. I'm not sure if that means I passed or failed my Rorscrotch (Rorschach + crotch) test, or what I can glean from the fact that this dress thinks all the deepest truths to my psyche lie in Drunkface McCord's pelvis. Hopefully it will turn out to mean only that I need a nap.
