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Thursday, 29 July 2010

My Devil shopped in Zara...

To distance myself from any similarities of that famous book ,I must begin by stating the following facts: the only thing Anne Hathaway and I have in common is that we are both brunettes...at least I still am and that we both have been associated with men with criminal records.Ok...so in my situation it was barely a federal case,the guy in question did not rip off the Pope but he had come out of a brief stint in jail and was mightily affronted by the fact that I no longer wanted to be his penpal. Like that wee tidbit could be swept under my turkish carpet. So I was shallow and judgemental ...Lets get real,he was no Tony Soprano and I sure as heck wasn't going to be his Carmela.
Moving on....
Having worked for "my devil" for 5 plus years,I have never seen the inside of the magazine offices,let alone visited the "wardrobe" or ran out for coffee and "mamouls".I would be hard pressed geographically since the office is in Cairo,Egypt and I live in  the South of France.
I would meet "my devil" in London or Monte Carlo where we would host  events,or better still,Paris for  catwalk shows,parties and bargain shopping. Our mutual hunting ground would be behind the scenes,ignoring stars and designers while greedily sipping on a glass of bubbly waiting for our visions to clear and for our ears to stop buzzing. Did I get wined and dined in fancy eateries?...Not so much. In fairness she did host "magazine dinners" and would gather us round be it at the "Armani" restaurant in Paris  or  "The Saliere" in Fontvieille,MC...there we would gather, photographer, stylist, Paris/  London/Monaco correspondents,  her personal  friends and we  would be wined and dined like the best of them. Outside of these rarities...she and I  pretty much schlepped our way around from show to metro, on our own 2  swelling feet with barely a moment to spare for sustenance. Frankly,dehydration  was the look "du jour" I sported on most occasions and I must confess it did me no favours.Nothing like the puckering up of your innards to get you going....so much for expense accounts.Whenever a pit stop was made, I would always spy "my devil" nursing her white wine with quiet contemplation and pursing her lips around her faithful cigarettes. She made it a point to feed me,like a she wolf caring for her pup but rarely did she join me herself...nurture versus nature? Or purse strings versus Penne?


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