OMGOMGOMGOMG. Daniel Henney is coming over to MY house!!! No, seriously, ferreal. OMG. What should I do? More importantly, what should I wear? Something kinda casual, maybe, but paired with some strappy, devastating fuck-me shoes? Don’t want to appear desperate. BUT I AM DESPERATE DANIEL HENNEY LET ME LICK YOUR FACE. Okay, breathe. Do you think Daniel Henney likes risotto? I’ve been making a mean risotto lately. But, wait, what am I saying? He’s an actor. Actors don’t do carbs. Hmm. Maybe we skip dinner altogether then and go straight to making out? Yes, please! Hopefully he’s not one of those pretty boy actors who wants to be taken seriously and appreciated for his mind. No, really, that won’t do. I’M NOT HERE TO TALK PROUST DANIEL HENNEY I’M HERE TO WATCH YOU TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS GOT IT? (Oh please, Lord, let him be shallow and sex-starved, please, I don’t even care if he’s an awful lover like most ridiculously hot guys, I just want to see him naked.) Now, uh, where was I? Oh, right…DANIEL HENNEY IS COMING TO MY HOUSE. I better go and get ready. Trim my bangs, buy a magnum of decent red Burgundy and some Votivo red currant candles, dig up my nice underwear, maybe get a bikini wax, and definitely pop a Xanax. Yes, I think I can handle this. I can handle DANIEL FUCKING HENNEY coming over to my house, and I can play it cool. Or cool-ish. In the vicinity of cool, maybe, like the center of a medium-rare steak. We’ll see, no guarantees. Wish me luck!
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.