Yo, Mojo, Where You At?

I think I’ve lost my Mojo.

Yo, Mojo, where you at?

It seems my Mojo felt I was cramping her style. Bringing her down. Killing her vibe.

She hung around as long as she could before finally stealing away in the middle of the night, hot on the heels of some of my other lost friends (my patience, my sanity, my free time).

Since her disappearance, things have taken a serious turn for the worse. My inner fashion compass has been spinning erratically, hopelessly lost and confused. The end result is nothing less than a fashion nosedive.

I’ve been busting out the high waisted mamma wearing Lee rider jeans. I’ve developed a fondness for polyester and nylon. I buy hair scrunchies by the dozen. And, I seemed to have misplaced my favorite fanny pack.

I am really hanging on by my fashion fingertips, people. If it weren’t for the Wet and Wild makeup counter, I’d be a lost cause.

I first noticed my Mojo was missing at a recent wedding I attended. Happened on the dance floor. As I was attempting to shake it, I kinda forgot where it liked to be shook. And, how? And when? And, why?

And, now?

I am beginning to think my Mojo has been missing longer than I thought.

I simply must have my Mojo back.

I’ve called all her friends. Posted fliers. Offered up an award.

I just can’t go on without my sweet Mojo.

I need some help! Could we form a search party? Maybe everybody spread out and comb this place? Search high and low. Leave no stone unturned!

And, pedal to the metal, people.

I’d like to get my Mojo on tonight.