“What’s it look like?” Like the fashion fairy went on a bender and vomited up last season’s clearance rack while jungle animals watched from the walls. I just tripped over a bra hooked around one leg of my bed. I glance at my leopard-print comforter, the impressionist elephant prints I picked up at the Chelsea Flea Market, and the metal monkey table lamps on my nightstand and dresser. There’s no way in hell I’m telling Knox about any of it.
