Saturday, July 27, 2002

Martha Stewart's Sing Sing Prison Bitch Diary:
The Missing First Pages: Part One

Dear Diary,

"It's a Good Thing" I love a challenge, because my induction to this facility has left much to be desired.
I am accustomed to being booked for public appearances.
This type of booking, however, is totally devoid of graciousness or hospitality of any sort. My agent wasn't even allowed to handle the front-end details for me.
My introduction included having black soot rubbed onto my fingertips so they could fingerprint me, as if they didn't know Martha Stewart, those smug civil service vermin!
No suitable moisturizing cleanser was provided to remove the black filth. My manicure was decimated!
Then a sub-par photographer, with no aesthetic je ne sais quoi whatsoever, shot a full face and profile of me in the harshest possible fluorescent lighting. He actually chuckled when I asked to see proofs.
Though I had packed some suitable linen and cotton resort wear from Land's End and J. Peterman, they confiscated it and instead issued me a polyester blend "lounge suit" consisting of horrid, unstructured trousers with an unflattering elastic waist, and a top resembling something an impoverished vocational nursing student might wear.
I specifically requested something in a nice seafoam or sage, but they gave me faded navy blue, with horrid stenciling. I am not a winter, I am a spring, and navy is all wrong for me. The clothing was actually used and relaundered, and not even suitable for doing a rag faux finish on interior walls.
When I told them I had skin too sensitive to wear ployester blends, they used unsavory, abusive language as though they were criminals themselves.
They also confiscated my French lingerie and issued me two horrid pairs of white cotton briefs, which come up to my thorax.
The slip-on canvas "yachting shoes" were of Pakistani sweatshop quality, with zero arch support. And they also expect me to wear used tube socks, which I shant, under any conditions.
Now I must rest before I describe the nightmarish bedding and linens they assigned.
So glad I thought to smuggle some Xanax in that very personal spot.
More when I am calm enough to collect my thoughts...

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