JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

We wandered into a shoe store and Manila Hilton immediately zeroed in on a pair of black knee-high leather boots. “Don’t you have enough boots?” I asked her.

“They’re not for me,” she said, “you should try them.”

“But. . .but. . .” Okay, I’ve always wanted black knee-high leather boots. I tried them on. They fit perfectly.

“You should buy them,” Manila Hilton said.

“Just what I need for my scary bitch reputation,” I pointed out. “Fascist jackboots.” Oddly this only made them more attractive.

“Go on,” Manila Hilton insisted, drowning out the practical voice in my head that was whining, “They’re expensive, impractical, and when will you ever use them?”

“You travel a lot,” Manila Hilton pointed out, “so you can wear them.”

Suddenly the completely unnecessary purchase seemed like an absolute necessity. “All right,” I said, “but just to be clear, we’re not going to be Thelma and Louise. I have no intention of driving off a cliff, especially with someone with three DUIs. Where does one drive off a cliff in Guam anyway?”

“There are a couple of places,” Manila Hilton replied. “Like Two Lovers Point.”

“Well I’m not doing the kamikaze drive off Two Lovers Point. Also, you’re the one with the future ex-husband, so if we run into the Brad Pitt hitchhiker he’s mine.”

“Deal. Look, killer stiletto boots!”

“No.” Manila Hilton is a bad influence.