Further Under the Duvet Read Free

Nu, ready to spray us, at the white-coated skin therapists, ready to ambush us with their special offers – and looked terrified.
    ‘Just put your head down and run,’ I said. ‘And whatever you do, don’t make eye-contact with any of them.’
    I launched myself into the fray, Himself on my heels. ‘Stay low, stay low!’ I urged, but the inevitable happened. ‘Christ! I got got,’ he yelped.
    ‘How bad?’ I asked.
    He sniffed himself. ‘Paul Smith for women. Not too bad.’
    We kept going, while all around us voices babbled a cacophony of temptations.
Hey, gorgeous, wanna try our new spring shades? Over here, over here, spend $75 and get a free lipstick. Never mind them, what about us, our dinky travel kitsare just in. But we’re showcasing our new concealer, it’ll change your LIFE
…
    Finally we reached the lifts at the back. ‘Jesus,’ he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘It’s like a Moroccan souk.’
How I got barred from Miu Miu
    There are many posh shops in New York and the staff are not pleasant. At least not to me. I was given some advice by a regular: look evil and bored; waft; display no positive emotion; above all, don’t make a fool of yourself.
    With Himself, my sister and my friend Anne-Marie in tow, we entered Miu Miu, where the first thing I saw was my favourite pair of boots – I was actually wearing a pair – at half price. Caught up in a fifty-per-cent-off frenzy, I decided to buy a new pair but first I had to check the size of the ones I was wearing. So I straightened my leg and stuck my foot up for Himself to see what it said on my sole. As he held my ankle at face height (he’s tall) I felt myself losing my balance and began that hopping, arm-windmilling thing people do – usually just before someone off stage throws in a bag of ball-bearings. My sister grabbed hold of me, but unfortunately also fell victim to the waves of unbalance, then Anne-Marie tried to reverticalize us, but she too got caught up in the vortex. We hovered between balance and falling for a few tortuous seconds then Himself intervened, but the combined weight of the three of us was too much and, in slow motion, in a tangle of limbs and coats and handbags, all four of us toppled to the floor.
Oh my God, I’m lying on the floor in Miu Miu
.
Himself refuses to go into Victoria’s Secret
    Just point-blank refused. He didn’t even say, ‘Please don’t make me.’ He just stood at the door, looked at the prairies of underwear within, told me no power on earth would make him go in and that was that. I told him he’d look more like a pervert hanging around outside, but nothing doing.
    I was keen to see what all the fuss was about; in the ads I’d got the impression that Victoria’s Secret was a class act but when I stood too close to one of the nightdresses and it crackled and stuck to me, I wasn’t so sure. All the same I bought a couple of bras – one pink, one lilac. Later when I told my sister about the visit, she said in disgust, ‘Oh my God. You didn’t buy anything, did you?’ I fessed up the colouredy bras. ‘Well,’ she advised, ‘just don’t stand in front of any naked flames.’
The psychic assistants in Bloomingdales
    Anne-Marie told me the assistants in Bloomingdales were psychic and I thought she meant that they were so knowledgeable they were
almost
psychic. So Himself and myself went into Bloomingdales looking for the Eileen Fisher range and – not expecting any joy – asked an assistant if they stocked it. Without missing a beat he not only confirmed that they carried it, but gave me the exact coordinates (third floor, two-thirds of the way back, bordered by Marc Jacobs to the north, Aqua to the east and DKNY to the south). Considering that Bloomingdales is the size of a small country I thought he was having a little joke at our expense, but went to the third floor anyway. When we got off the escalator, we stood for a nonplussed second, trying to find our