starlight    and    pixie    dust    on    the    strip

	I bought myself some fake nails this morning,
	I was gonna go to the Higher Education and You
	class down at the community college,
	but my country mix tape was in the car
	and pretty soon I was driving the Strip instead,
	singing along with Shania, and when I saw

	Neon Nail Glamour flashing right
	between Perfect Pets and Photo X-Press,
	I figured I knew a sign when I saw one.

	So I strolled right in and asked the manicurist
	for gold sparkle polish to match my bumblebee costume
	I bought at Wal-Mart, $29.99 but worth it,
	I had to wear something to work tonight at the mall,
	and last year's Barbie won't cut it,
	not with that cleavage,

	and at least this way if the Pixie Sticks
	break again and spill bright sticky pollen down my dress
	I'll still be in character.

	And hey, what a shimmery little bee I was
	with my three-inch heels (sequins on the toes)
	and wings of blonde hair teased out to there,
	and it felt good passing out fistfuls of SweetTarts
	and BottlePops to all the little lions and belly dancers,
	giving extra candy to the really cute ones,

	and if a father or two had one hand on a stroller
	and the other on my butt,
	well, chalk it up to the holiday spirit.

	But now it's midnight and the spirit's done left,
	I'm home in an empty apartment with just a black cat
	that won't cross anyone's path, not even mine,
	and my feet kill and my hair's died
	and I can only get one contact out (these damn nails)
	so when I turn out my light and squint my way to bed,

	all I can see are my glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars,
	blinking on when I wink open one eye,
	blinking off when I wink open the other.

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