One day, in February, I was sad about my self-inflicted spending freeze and the fact that my Australian dress wouldn’t make it across the ocean in time for the ball, when my tractor driving, cow milking boyfriend told me that he couldn’t believe he was going to something called a ball.
Rebuttal: “I can’t believe I talk about manure, tractors repairs, or cows calving on a daily basis.”
I win. Manure trumps formal black tie event, He’s got the better deal.
Stylish baby cow.
In Michael Kors.
E!
three.deep 