And there's always a tacky outfit, so it seems like we're in our element, bub.
[ prison jumpsuits are so not cordelia's style. she shrugs, though; there's a formula to this stuff now, and cordelia's finding herself less surprised each time it's applied to a situation. ]
So, speaking of elements, throw me out of mine. What's the last thing your gorgeous self remembers? I hope we finally win the lottery. [ ignoring the fact that there is no "we" any more. ]