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So I'm going to tell you straight out. Today we're going to let the shoes take care of themselves through photos that will give them all the credit they need and deserve.

Today I'd like to wish a very happy birthday to my Darling Lolo, whom I married a few years ago. I don't need to tell you how many, but you should know that I've done more than Britney Spears, and enough to make me feel happy and proud to have put up with my husband.

Of course I took some Xanax, I drank white wine, I ran like crazy around Parisian parks, along the quays, until my arteries burst, sometimes to swallow my pride and try to forget how much I wanted to leave him or throw my glass of champagne in his face.

Anyone who's read my book will know that I've pulled out all the stops and have an experience that even Elizabeth Taylor or Kim Novak could envy.

And yet every evening I'd come home to my Darling Lolo, whom I'd shower with kisses even though he'd sweated like an ox after intensive boxing training.

Happy birthday, my little heart, which I love as much as truffle burrata.

A little link for your orgasmic ears:

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