This weekend Mum took me to Paris! I was told it was a shopping trip, but really it was supposed to be a scolding for that pesky interlude I had with Cousin Niles last Christmas. Honestly, do second cousins really even count as family? It's not our fault Auntie Gertrude was wandering down to the wine cellar in the middle of the night.
A little chilly, but decidedly worth it.
Anyway. Mum went to the Louvre to 'draw', which is what she tells me when she goes to have a consult with the French plastic surgeon (hopefully he will find a way to surgically remove all that tartan plaid). I went down in my slippers, because I am a delightful, artless ingenue, to the hair salon where I paid a man $250 American to do my hair exactly the way I do it every day. But it was world famous, and also, he sold me a gramme of cocaine, so it was worth it.
Super high quality! Thanks, Hyatt! And Jonathan from the salon!
Later, Mum and I went shopping at the Gallerie Lafayette, and also along the Champs-Elysees, which I cannot spell, even though I have presumably been to France at least two dozen times. Oh well, that's what the hired help are for, n'ess pah? Mum bought a slew of anti-aging serums made from secret Tibetan placentas, and I bought some naughty lingerie on the sly and covered it up with a fur coat so Mum wouldn't notice. Mum loves fur, so she didn't mind that I bought a coat for $56,000. I'll likely never wear it anyway, since it was only to hide the crotchless panties made of platinum thread; but perhaps I can persuade Cousin Niles to fuck me on it in front of a fire on Boxing Day. All in all, an excellent trip.