I’ve been luxing low of late.
Mr.Luxe has been poorly – chesty cough, dizzy head, ‘less designer, more outlet’ stubble. He’s avoided social outings in favour of home – loafing on the tufty time and luxing lyrical about life.
Boo listens. Sometimes.
I’m bored Luxeless
Nursing him back to Alpha luxe is tough! And his idea of nursing involves far too many shoulder rubs and neck tickles than I care to share. I won’t lie, some nights have seen more action than others – usually the ones punctuated by an online shop. Matches Fashion foreplay.
He’s a loved luxe
How many nurses serve home made chicken soup wearing only thigh high Choo’s?!? Only once. His eyes widened and mine watered – splash back wasn’t foreseen soon enough. True to my promise, and rocking ‘safety’ sweats, I’m nourishing him back to best with my self -styled rituals:-
Regular doses of sudafed and starmix…. A diet tweak
Interval cuddles and impromptu Boo licks… Maybe exercise weak
Random readings from the scriptures (my luxe Christmas wish list)… Love is Chic!
Mother’s luxed off..
To dodge nursing duties, she’s landed a new job and with it a social life – the retirement got relegated – we’ve hardly seen her since! #abandoned.
A second Saturday shop session cancelled, I was feeling the fashionista fear. I could go without him, but where’s the fun in that. And who else can comfort me and my over spend!?! This illness is a luxe liability.
The cure therefore – retail rehabilitation.
So yesterday, after a day trip to the doctors – Again, and with a slightly perkier Luxe – hallelujah – I decided to detour home via GU1. Mr. Luxe’s credit card was growing moss. I panicked. Lethargic Luxe needed fresh air and Surrey air is the freshest… In shopping circles anyhow!
After a trolley dash around Sainburys and a fringe thrashing from the carpark wind tunnel we headed straight for the newest tour de force on Guildfords cobbles – Anthropologie
Sure to be a Mecca for any Surrey stationed fashionista worth her salt.
It’s a shop I’ve loved (and loaded up the odd credit card on) since back when I moonlighted as a Virgin hostie – when JFK security knew my name and my Choo size.
Housed in a colossal space on the high street, it’s a style hunter heavy weight. I stood across the street papping the artful window displays – I wasn’t alone, I spied a couple of semi-impressed husbands doing the same.
Once inside, Mr. Luxe was first to spot the complementary wine and cakes, he gobbled down a lemon slice while I glugged back the cava, I left him praising the assistant on her British tray bake and headed Choo first into the wonderland.
A live band was serenading the hardcore shoppers who’d made it past the free feast.
The glassware – sensational. The porcelain – perfection . All perfectly distanced out of Bugaboo/Balenciaga/Breton wearing harms way.
And then I spotted the stripe candy you see below
A midi masterpiece. Black and green and nothing in between.
It’s volumous, it’s versatile. It’s mine
I’ll be wearing her super glam with my Charlotte Olympia sling backs. I’ve spied another Olympia offering if Santa gets stuck for ideas.
Maybe I’ll wear her paired back luxe and throw on a cashmere sweat and some Zanotti scaffolding. The world and this dress is my stripey oyster.
On the first floor, and second cake in I’d adopted a devilish felt fedora with crochet detailed crown – I was on a roll. I gathered up all my goodies and joined the queue to test drive.
After a rather long closet consultation – Mr. Luxe sprawled across a patchwork sofa, me popping selfies like a teenager on speed – it was time to flex the Amex and venture back to the crowded cobbles.
I left with a heavy heart.
Mr. Luxe holding heavy bags.
We agreed – the lemon cake was a little heavy.
Back home, on a retail high – The party dress is hanging proud – just a little reminder for Mr. Luxe to order those Olympias before christmas
