Glitter for the street urchins.

Dear Eva Longorrhea,

Don't bend over!

Not even if Felicity Huffman throws a pancake on the floor in front of you. Not even if Tony Parker drops a handful of diamonds. (Okay, you know what? If Parker drops the sparklers, you go ahead and present your rump like a baboon in heat, just scoop up the ice! What was I thinking?) But I digress.

What I'm saying is, you are a lady of means (even on all fours, scrambling for diamonds) and you deserve a whole dress. I am a but a poor lass, begging for alms in the street. 'alf a fancy dress is more than I've 'ad in me 'ole life! (Oh God, apparently I'm also an 19th-century Cockney!)

Now get up off the floor, have a word with your stylist about hem length and send me the shimmery, rainbowy half dress, poste haste. I need to wrap it around Tiny Tim for warmth. You believe me, right?

Bless ye, kind lady!

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