I Like Miley Cyrus. There, I said it.
By all ordinary, normal and logical workings of the universe I’m supposed to hate Miley Cyrus. I’m supposed to loathe every waking thing about her, from her music career to her television show to her family and yes, of course her clothing. Yet I’m 27 years old and when my mother came to visit me and brought a Hannah Montana beach towel for a vacation I was about to go on, I squealed with delight like a ten year old.
I know, I can’t figure out either.
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