All those winning pieces of washable wonders. My wearable wares whipped up from weary wardrobe cast-offs ought to be well-worn by the wealthy and make me well-to-do.
Wanda. You are yet wet behind your whimsical ears, while I wither with wind and work and age.
I wish I were worthy of that workwoman, Wanda. Will my willpower wither if you withhold from me your winning marketing ways?
Woe-be-gone are we. I can hardly withstand my want of becoming Wanda.