I spent a lovely Saturday afternoon with my fab friend K.
First, we had a late brunch (Eggs Florentine for Me; cheddar & broccoli omelette for Miz K), over which K floored me (it was good that I was sitting, but I did splutter quite a lot) by admitting that she had eaten a roast beef sandwich – au jus, no less – for lunch one day that week. Now, K has been a vegetarian for many years, so this admission shocked me much more than the news that the sandwich had been followed by a snogging session in the car of a most unsuitable suitor, thus rendering K late for a meeting at work. Possibly beef is an aphrodiasiac. Who knew? Maybe all those mad cows.
Following the scandalous revelations, we repaired to a Grand Hotel. Not, as you might think, for a scandalous snogfest of our own, but for a Worthy Cause Fundraiser K was attending that night. I must say I envy her all those galas and fashion shows she always seems to be attending. Anyway, I was the Designated Dresser, as I was soon to discover.
As soon as we got to K’s room, I immediately sprawled on the bed, because I love hotel beds so much. Actually, I love hotels so much. I told K I wanted to live in one, and she said that her grandparents had lived in that very Grand Hotel for many years, many years ago, back when her family had money. Then she grabbed the bedspread and threw it on the floor, claiming that the hotels, even Grand ones, rarely clean the bedspreads. I thought they cleaned them between guests, but no. I tried not to think of all the bedspread cooties I had sprawled on in the past.
To help avert the horror, I explored the mini-bar and started reading the Room Service menu while K was prepping in the bathroom. I kept calling out to her: “Canapes! And hors d’oeuvres – hot and cold! Aren’t canapes & hors d’oeuvres the same thing?” and “Look, there’s a water menu!” (There was: it listed and defined artesian, mineral, and spring waters. Educational.) The list for the valet laundry included arcane items like housedresses and tuxedo shirts. So retro! I tried to interest her in the Bath Sommelier, where they would bring you a tin of bath salts and essential oils and other bathing goodies, but she got exasperated and came out of the bathroom and informed me, “Of all the people I know, you’re the one who really, really needs to be rich.”
Truer words were never spoken. I couldn’t have put it better myself.
At this point, I learned that I was her Designated Dresser, and was told to focus on helping her look fabulous, but not as if she were trying to look fabulous, which we all know is the hardest look to pull off. With the help of wine from the mini-bar, we selected a short, flirty, silky skirt, high heeled boots, and a top that was just boobalicious enough to be alluring, but not sleazy. I applied false eyelashes to K’s baby blues for the first time in her life, so her eyelashes were like flirty butterflies. If I say so myself, she looked gorgeous. And I love it that she put on her nail polish as we were leaving the room.