Letter of Truth: Part Well-Played

I think I heard something about something about how it’s totally depressing to make fun of someone’s outfits when her outfits are the least of her problems or something? I don’t know. I wasn’t paying any attention. I don’t know if y’all are aware, but I have had a craaaazy year this last year. That chapter in my autobiography (working title: Cheetos: A Love Story) is going to be juicy. That’s all I’m saying. Lifetime Television For Women juicy and I am so playing myself as Young Britney and then Kim Cattrall can play me when I’m old, just like in Crossroads. Anyway, I just wanted to pop in and tell all y’all that I’m feeling much better and if you’re blind or whatever and reading this in like Braille or something, I also really just want you to know that I also look TOTALLY AWESOME and really cute and in good shape and with a decent weave for once and also completely self-actualized and full of inner something or other — I don’t know. Dr Phil keeps calling and leaving these long-ass messages on my machine about letting my inner self-esteem elephant trample the lawn of my self-image or something and that reminds me I need to call him and tell him to leave me alone because I so don’t need a new man in my life. Just this hot ass outfit. Suck on it, Timberlake. You too, Federline. And all the rest of all y’all. I told you I’d be back. It just TOOK ME A WHILE. GOD.

LOVE YOU MISSED YOU MEAN IT

BRITNEY.