“I need money in my account for books when you get a chance please,” I nonchalantly text mother before entering my last and longest class. Of course I’m getting books, psycho, but I’m sure to leave out one chic little detail. The Tory Burch Eddie flat, in sand. I will have this staple in my wardrobe before the cool air of fall comes upon me, even if I have to starve a little to acquire them. It’s been done before. I’m going to hell, but I don’t care, as long as I look super chic getting there, wearing those cute little sand snakeskin flats as I walk over the fiery coals. I mean, let’s be honest, it’s not like you’ve never slightly exaggerated to lean matters in your favor, right? Hardly a dime of the expenses for my schooling has ever come from mother anyway. The generous alimony and child support she’s received tends to get injected into her face instead, so I don’t really feel that terrible about treating myself a teensy bit.