The House That Bullshit Built

I really wanted to be a clothing designer. I loved it and I knew I was good at it. I had some really great ideas, I just needed a leg up. I was at the Dallas trade mart during the spring show. My salesman friend called it “The House That Bullshit Built” and I was about to learn why.

My friend got me a dinner invitation with a designer I admired. I’m thrilled and excited. This is my big chance. I’m the only female at the table with the designer and his posse, so I’m working hard to be interesting and get to know these guys.

Half way through dinner I realize that all eyes are on me and they are hanging on every word. I just keep going and going, on and on blabbering about my view of fashion. I can’t believe how they are swallowing up my words. They love me.

I look down and see that my wrap dress is gaping open and both boobs are in full view. I fixed the problem, kicked my friend under the table and said, “why didn’t you tell me I was exposing myself?” He said, “I thought you were doing it on purpose.”

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