I took my shoes to be heeled today and it cost me £46. I only bought the shoes in the sales last week. They are totally gorgeous leopard look heels that are just great with skinny jeans. I wore them out the first time on Saturday night and lost a heel tip. When I popped into the Heel Bar the guy advised me to come back in twenty minutes, and so to kill time I nipped into the shop next door. Being a busy professional gal and a discerning shopper, I used my 20 minutes very wisely indeed and bought some potential essentials. The scores on the doors are Heel Bar £6 – Anne Summers £40.
Years and years ago BestFriendForLife used to be a representative for Anne Summers, and did a damn fine job too. To support her in her blue squalor career I had many a raunchy girly party at my London apartment. BestFriendForLife would ensure everyone understood that orders were completely confidential. The party guests would secretly write out their orders, place them in a sealed envelope, and hand them to BestFriendForLife. The minute the party was over, and the door had closed on the last guest, we would rip open the envelopes and have a real giggle about the contents. It never failed to surprise me as to the naughty purchases made by the quietest of girls. Having my dearest friend selling such frolics gave me a rocking good few years. Sadly, it was never the same fun when she settled down and became a Tupperware Agent some years later although I did have fresher vegetables.
Without my good friend Anne Summers my life as a single girl (or indeed at times as a married girl) would be pretty miserable, and I would probably have come down with a touch of ‘hysteria.’ Now, I swear the following is true. (Doubters and disbelievers feel free to check out Wiki or the 2011 British comedy film Hysteria).
Back in the 19th Century, any gal that displayed symptoms such as a nervous disposition, insomnia or irritability would receive a diagnosis of ‘hysteria’ from their friendly doctor. The treatment was delivered by the GP himself. Basically he manipulated the genitals until the patient experienced a ‘hysterical paroxysm’ (or a rocking good orgasm to the likes of me and you). The chaise lounge, the darling of the front parlour, was invented just so women could relax in comfort whilst the GP on house call delivered a ‘hysterical paroxysm.’ (I kid you not). When word spread, so many women needed to be “cured” that the overworked GPs couldn’t keep up with the demand. Thankfully, as always, when men are too damn lazy to do the job themselves they invent a machine, and soon the job that often took hours when undertaken manually by the GP (yep been there) could be done in minutes by an electric vibrator. In fact, the electric vibrator arrived with a bloddy great buzz, about a decade before either the iron or the hoover. (To hell with you creases and dust).
Now, I have a great relationship with my Doctor, who is a really fit and knowledgeable mountain biker, but I really cannot imagine rocking up at his surgery (wearing my new leopard look shoes of course) and demanding a ‘hysterical paroxysm?’
Hmmmmm … on second thoughts with my new cull on internet dating …. maybe I shouldn’t make such a hasty statement!