Dubai's Desperate Housewife

Trials and traumas of a full-time mum in Dubai

Posts Tagged ‘Cortefiel

Girl talk

with one comment

I love to talk, usually about girls’ things like books, fashion, shoes, handbags, cosmetic surgery, hair and, to some extent, makeup. Sometimes I go a little overboard if I’m particularly passionate about my topic.

My friends are far too polite to tell me when they’ve had enough but, given I’ve now got the experience of 40 years behind me, I think I’m reasonably good at noticing when their eyes go dull and they start mentally going through their grocery list while I’m waxing lyrical about some new face cream or something (that doesn’t mean to say I stop talking, but I do notice).

If anyone wants to discuss the new Jimmy Choo 24-7 bag collection, I've a free half day...

DH, on the other hand, isn’t so kind. Over the years, we’ve developed a code for “I’m not in the slightest bit interested, please shut up.”

It started with: “You really need to be having this conversation with [insert girlfriend’s name],” followed by a pause from me while it sunk in that DH really couldn’t care less if the Lancôme mascara flaked while the Maybelline one didn’t and that, just maybe, the conversation would be more rewarding with a more receptive partner.

After a while he just started saying: “Umm… I’m not [friend’s name]”, which would silence me immediately.

Anyway on Saturday DH and I happened to walk past a sale in one of my favourite and newly discovered shops (Cortefiel, if you must know). While he sat outside with the (fractious, bored) children, I ran in to “have a look” and bundled as many nice things through the cash till as I reasonably could without trying them on, then ran outside again, full of the notion that there were plenty more delights waiting on the racks, if only I had the time to browse. (That’s generally how my shopping’s done these days – sigh.)

In the car, I hugged the carrier bag to me and started to tell DH of my joy at finding nicely styled t-shirts because all my old ones were faded in the wash, looking shabby, falling apart, too short, the wrong shape etc and he managed to silence me with one small sentence.

“Do I look blonde?” he asked.

Written by mrsdubai

February 21, 2011 at 7:49 pm

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