Michelle Williams tells Hobo Magazine (via UsWeekly) that she sometimes lets her mind twirl around in the puffy clouds and dreams of one day trading in six-figure paychecks for shit swipes on white briefs. Michelle saw some stage show in Paris and it gave her ideas of quitting acting to become a laundress or chef. My Chinese laundry lady would curse this wittle white bitch out in her native tongue, but her hiss time is already full with cursing my name for various reasons I do not wish to discuss.
This is the dream bubble bullshit Michelle said to Hobo:
I went to see two productions put on by Complicite, Simon’s theatre troupe and felt like I had the sleep rubbed out of my eyes. It seemed like a new horizon for me. I often dream of quitting acting. Walking away and becoming a laundress or a sous chef or maybe writing other people’s love letters for a living. Clearly, I don’t like to be in charge. And thinking of quitting is just keeping going in disguise. When you have options, anything is bearable. It’s when a situation is inescapable that it becomes hell. It seems to me that as soon as you get good at something, it is a sure sign that it is about to walk out of your life because it ceases to hold your mind and creative energy hostage.
This head in the clouds ho right here. Newsflash, Michelle. You ain’t Daniel Day-Lewis and life ain’t like My Beautiful Laundrette.
Like Michelle Williams said, she’s rich so it’s easy for her to think that doing laundry is a glamorous aria like it is in the operas! This chick probably thinks that when you’re a laundress, you get to wear a pristine white cotton dress and leap through the grass fields before you play a game of peek-a-boo with your fellow laundresses in between the bed sheets hanging on the clothesline. Then Michelle will whistle a happy tune as she skips down a pathway, holding a wicker basket full of folded white laundry that smells like the spring rain and flower farts.
Guess what, Michelle? In reality, that grassy knoll with the clothesline is really a hot, dirty storefront full of hos who don’t want to be there. That laundry in the wicker basket needs to be folded by you. Some prop master isn’t going to hand it to you. You have to stare at faded period stains on a sheet while trying to fold it. You have to look at a man’s chonies and try to figure out if that yellow stain is from last-minute bladder drops or dried jizz.
I swear, those Snuggle Bear commercials are giving some hos uneducated dreams.