Saturday evening saw me skadoodling down Oxford Street in brand new 6-inch platform sandals, a silk floral-printed bubble dress (my man believes that the bubble is inarguably the most unflattering style to have ever befallen womankind) pinched at the waist with a faux-croc Karen Millen belt and my prized baby Mulberry clutch.
This is me stupendously dressed up, an event which occurs annually at best, and testament to the fact that girls dress up not to impress you boys, but to razzle-dazzle other girls, because I’m enroute to a dinner date with my gal pal, and believe me when I say I have never, nor will I ever teetered my way down Oxford Street in 6-inch heels for any man (ok, except George Clooney maybe).