Admittedly today I was in a hurry. I had given myself 30 minutes - get in, get out - buy your Mary Janes, a pair of gloves, and a pair of tights to match the dress being worn to a black tie dinner tomorrow night (yeah, we're socialising at a fundraising gala - Hackney style). All three purchases made and I'm heading for the door with a hot jalapeño and cheese pretzel in hand. But then, bastards, they put a lingerie shop near the exit with just the nicest looking tights in the window.
'I'll grab those too just in case', I thought. And so I did. And another pair just in case. And then I handed over the plastic and punched in the numbers. Alas, too late, I finally noticed the sum total flashed up on the screen.
'How fecking much?! £100!! You have got to be kidding me!!!' I screamed in silence. Through the blur I vaguely recalled something being said about 'hand stitched' but I really should have been paying more attention.
Seriously! Who pays £100 for tights!?! Well .... me apparently.
'They will make your outfit' said the shop assistant valiantly.
'For that price, love, I'd expect them to make me a cup of tea at the end of the night and give my feet a massage'.
If those tights don't make it into the socialite pages of the Hackney Gazette I'm going to be well pissed off.
