A splinter of a second after HE called I knew I had to do something drastic and quickly air brush myself into eye popping, jaw dropping gorgeousness.
It’s never good news when the ex comes knocking.
And now that SHE was……something had to be done.

A year since the man stepped into my premises no amount of coaxing, flattering, sweet-talking, back rubbing had smoothed him into talking about the mysterious ‘Former’. Sneakily I have often, I admit, searched through his wallet and papers in search of a stray love note or at least a toothy Polaroid which would give me a glimpse of what the lady looked like.

But all in vain.

Today a whole of 13 months, 2 weeks and 14 hours later however the curtain was finally to be raised. At last I was to rest my eyes on the Woman at dinner tonight. So effervescent was my excitement that I spent the entire afternoon speculating and getting drunk on an abandoned bottle of Vodka.

Speculation no.1
The woman was stunning.

She had to be.
Why else would he possibly keep me from the details?
Surely the guy was just being a sweetheart and saving me the heartburn.
Possibly because i knew her already.
Maybe she was a MODEL!
Maybe I had seen her already on a billboard or a magazine cover and salivated over her dress..or, worse, her perfect booty… in front of him!

He must have cracked into a nasty smug smirk at the very sight of my girlish envy!

God!

What would I do when she struts through that door looking like a groomed little peacock ready to perch on a catwalk?
I absolutely couldn’t be looking at her with puppy eyes between serving her appetizers and rummaging around the apartment for my autograph book!

That would leave him snugly satisfied with his prowess over women for the rest of the year!!!!!

Instead.
Instead I would turn the tables and make the gorgeous little thing go vra vra vroom at the very sight of me.

That’s what I would do, yes.

Tipsily I ran into the bath and turned on the shower.
With 2 hours in hand I still had enough time to transform myself into a strapping little Swan. I was a pro at conversions of the kind. Walk in the park. Piece a’cake.
One foot on the bathtub other on the shower floor I was squishily scraping away at my leg with a razor.

Quick.
Now the nail polish.
Toothbrush in mouth I tugged and pulled at my toe nails with clippers.

Maybe there was still time for a hurried visit to the beauty parlour for a nippy pedicure?
Maybe not.
Hurriedly, HURRIEDLY I jumped from one foot to the other trying to scrub my muggy looking feet into civility.
And that’s when it happened.

Well sometime around then anyway.

Speculation no.2

Daintily as i stepped out of the bath, carefully trying to get into character early and act as graceful as one can possibly look and feel in a hideous green bathrobe, I slipped on something….possibly some of the ultra luscious, super lubricating hair serum I accidentally dropped on the floor and landed, ungracefully, perhaps a tad pathetically, right on my head.

When I woke up I was in the hospital.

Looking concerned and with a buck-toothed, blinking girl, probably still in school, HE stood close by.
Through her mouthful of teeth the lady who had just cost me a twisted ankle, a couple of bruises, a nasty slash on my posterior and a visit to the hospital blinked and said

“I have heard so much about you.”

I grinned a toothy grin and wished I was in a state to bonk my head against the wall.

Exactly 7 days 10 hours and 45 minutes after I pledged my life to establishing my presence in the office room I decided it was a lost battle.
This was not to be.
It just couldn’t happen.
Trying to get my co-workers to look me in the eye and answer my questions without rolling their eyes was like asking Lindsay Lohan to make public appearances wearing underwear! (more…)

So here I am clit-clattering away on the comp in my very own dignifiedly grey office cabin.
I am here for a 3 month long internship program.
My job concerns little beyond looking around the hopeless premises with distracted concern and copy pasting incomprehensible, and hence boring, information fom one document to the other and then making the final product look like my handiwork.
Piece of cake.
I eat often and remorseleslly. Given that their is very little else to do it manages to prove entertaining every now and then.
Stacked around my present abode, in discreet niches invisible to the naked eye are salty delicacies every self respecting health freak would shriek and pass out at the very sight of.

When the present stock proves unfulfilling I smartly dial fast food numbers pasted carefuly on the wall.

Since stepping out for lunch is a complete no no no one even notices the multiple orders that make way to my desk everyday.

The sun is bright outside.
I catch a sight of it every time I walk into the ladies room for a bit of fresh air.
My colleagues are great. I am guessing.
Most of them don’t speak.
My seniors let me know that speech is not an appreciable quality within these four grey, brightly tube-lit walls.
Here IM works fine.

If you want water, just IM for it, some speechless guy or the other will bring it down to your desk. You won’t even have to thank him.

Life here is a series of oscillations.
From the water cooler to the coffee maker.
From the coffee maker to the water cooler.
And later from the cabin to the loo.
Everyone here is very important.

Everyone here fingers their keyboard importantly and fixes their tie every fifteen minutes.
To stay attuned I clatter on my comp profusely and type A to Z a couple of dozen times with intent. When I tire of that I puff puff my face like I were Grace Kelly in a press conference in Monaco.

Every once in a while my IM peep peeps to jerk me out of my guilty nap. Jerkily I spit away my reverie, collect my collectibles and dignifiedly clappity clap my way to the meeting room.
When people talk in the meeting room they speak with BBC radio like precision. Occasionally, when I speak, I put on my best fake Garbo voice and nod like I understand everything. Of course I sneak a peek every now and then to see if people are watching my little act, but sadly NO ONE does.

Last evening for instance this utter moron of a fellow colleague of mine was reading a list of all the items we needed sent off on mail ASAP. Being reminded of an important bit he missed out I raised my hand politely, feeling uncannily like I were back in school. My projected limb however failed to so much as attract a raised eyebrow from him and on he went with his dastardly little catalogue. Feeling a little miffed I waved my hand like I were hailing a cab. Shooting my characteristic sarci-comic grin at the other suited booted’s present in the room I waved and wagged clicked my tongue and hooted.

But to no avail.
By the time he was on the last paragraph I had almost clambered up on the table in desperation.
And yet…YET the man paid not the tiniest bit of heed to me!
Such insolence!!!!
Even my neighbour’s spoilt brat of a snotty poodle would throw me a woof if she saw my present antics!
Whatever would I have to do to get a little bit of attention round here huh? Stride atop the table rip of my clothes and get jiggy with some gut sickening Christina Aguilera number?

Sheesh!

Completely unused to such cold inattention I spent the whole day biting my recently manicured nails and wondering what in the world would make these pale faced monstrosities working with me wake up and see exactly how great I was. I bought a brand new pair of McQueens just so they could soothe their eyes for crying out loud!

It was their birth right to be able to feel thankful for my existence.

Something, I felt deep down, had to be done for these unfortunate individuals.

To dwell on the subjects of shoes, I have a few words of advice saved specially for the cautious footwear shopper. (more…)

Gwyneth Paltrow’s steep climb up the success ladder has finally begun to show! The sassy blonde actress’ march back into the glamour spotlight this year has been more about her vertigo inducing stilts than her critically acclaimed comeback venture ‘the Iron Man’.

And why not!

The former girlfriend of hunky Hollywood A-lister Brad Pitt, Paltrow has long honed her fashionista identity. Rarely have even her worst critics been able to find flaw with the stuff she swished around in on the red carpet. Her comeback post motherhood however has seen a swift shift in sartorial sensibilities. All in all good ol’ Gwyn’s style has changed from Chic to SEXY!!! without so much as a hiccup.

The recent climb however has not been easy. Even the glamorous wife of Coldplay frontrunner Chris Martin has had a few knee weakening, tottering experiences atop her killer 7inches. Recently during her tumultuous publicity tour for her latest movie Paltrow hop skipped and jumped through fashion capitals such as Paris, Berlin and New York on heels that left jaws hanging. After a hectic Paris premiere even the feisty babe was left clutching onto her bodyguard while climbing down a flight of stairs on a particularly dashing piece of footwear.

So much for poise!

But it was not just the Academy Award winner’s skyscraper heels that climbed steep, the price tags they came with were no less neck breaking! Amongst the 7 breath stopping styles Gwyn posed with was a racy but feminine lace printed stiletto pumps designed by famous Italian designer Giussepe Zanotti. Each pair, his agents claim retails for no less than $900!

YIKES!

Methinks I’ll aim lower even if I crave sky high. Which isn’t a tough decision given that I have neither Gwyn’s millions nor those gorgeous calves to support my cause. What I do have however is a game plan to keep myself standing even on a seven inch.
As any red-blooded girl knows high heels isn’t an easy deal. It involves devotion, unflinching faith, tradition, tireless pursuit and most of all razor sharp skill.

Clearly the quintessential high heels aren’t for the weak hearted.

Step onto them only if you dare.

But once you do. (And you will, like it or not.) Remember to follow a few essential rules like your life depended on them. The guidelines below will keep you from that oh-so-face-reddening fall or even that pathetically unladylike tumble. Read and learn.

Tip 1: Begin small. Don’t jump the gun and climb a mountain before you can scale a molehill. Start with kitten heels and clamber up to a wedge before you promote yourself to a full-blown stiletto. Even when you do think you are ready for the real thing select an affordably comfortable sized stilt rather than a scryscraping high one. You’ll have plenty of time to swish around on killer pencil heels once you get used to walking on the more modest variety.

Tip 2: Go for stiletto pumps rather than the more flimsy, strappy backless varieties. Agreed that the latter tend to be far more fetching and uber feminine but the way I see it (and no doubt the way you’ll see it when the first backache begins to get particularly unbearable) health and life comes before sexiness. No point in twisting an ankle or dislocating your spine or even breaking your neck over looking gorgeous!

Tip 3: Practice, Practice, Practice! If there is any possibility of a relationship between math lessons and high heel walking it is probably hinged on the basis of practice. Remember to walk around your home in your dainty skyscrapers before stepping out on the streets to get used to them. Sure your brothers, fathers, husbands, kids, neighbours, neighbour’s aunt’s might see you and laugh their guts out and make you feel like a prize ass, but better to be laughed at in your own home than squirming and fumbling on the streets and being mocked at by complete strangers!

Tip 4: Learn when to wear what sort of heels. If you are attending a party where you are likely to stand around please give your feet a break and ditch the idea of wearing a seven incher! Go for a more comfortable pair of shorter heels instead. Even if you do decide to go for the killer skyscrapers, remember to avoid standing around too long. Excuse yourself once in a while and visit the rest room to take off your shoes and give your feet a bit of a massage. If you are to be dancing PLEASE practice balance techniques in your home before stepping out if you don’t want to end up with a horribly twisted ankle.

Finally. Remember not to overdo your heel routine. Even a Gwyneth Paltrow needs a holistic health massage session after a week long strutting about on heels! Stick to flats or blocks or wedges at the most for everyday work. Don’t even THINK about running about in your heels (and no don’t give me that ‘Anne-Hathaway-ran-in-her-Jimmy-Choos-in- ‘DEVIL WEARS PRADA’ look, Hollywood doesn’t figure as real life). And most importantly watch out for those stairs.

That is of course if you aren’t Mrs. Martin, in which case you’ll have a gentlemanly bodyguard politely offering you a helping hand if you trip.

But then again if you are Gwyneth Paltrow you’d hardly need a tip about scraping heights on your heels.

Make no mistake, you can shove your relationship guru’s advice right down your kitchen sink, the one who makes the first after-fight call is the one who has Lost! (more…)

It was a simple case of ‘fabulous’ gone ‘frumpy’. The customary Friday night dinner had followed a movie. We cabbed it to our recent favourite joint and sat snuggled under a circular overhead lamp in a cubby, which eerily resembled an interrogation room. (more…)

If there were a guidebook to sexiness, the way there are guidebooks to Pregnancy or Machhu Pichhu, it would begin with a chapter on the right fitting bra.

If you are like the former ‘me’, you’ll probably rubbish all claims about the ‘right’ bra with the same amount of disdain that you usually show to claims about the ‘right’ man.

The skepticism I understand. But I insist that there is a ray of hope.

The problem you see does not lie with the bras or our lovely ‘assets’. The problem instead lies with their association, the partnership of the breast and the brassiere. Don’t get me wrong this is not a pseudo-Neo-Feminist-Nazi pamphlet urging you to empty out your linen closet and set it afire. What I am instead requesting you to take into consideration is the especially significant alliance of the feminine body and the lingerie that guards it.

If our primary school teachers had really made an effort to teach us the fundamentals in life they would have pointed out that, ‘A Good dress begins with a Good bra’. So many of us (oh well at least some of us) tend to pin our hopes on that odd ‘Versace’ or ‘Chanel’, when where we should have really headed first is ‘Victoria’s Closet’. It’s true! A good perking up of your boobies can make an entire outfit look smashing. And a bad one can even make an Armani look like it stepped out of a flea market.

Most of us tend to buy bras based on how they look rather than how they fit! While the aesthetic sense is commendable it’s important that we remember that the brassiere tends to be worn even outside the bedroom, where it is expected to stay on, unnoticed! Nothing can be more unbearable than a bra that is uncomfortable and/or painful. Unfortunately, however most of tend to have become so used to the discomfort right from our teenage days that we simply do not know what kind of bras we should wear!

To begin with therefore let us glance at the basics.

1)The cups of the right bra for you will cover both your breasts ENTIRELY, without causing any spillage or any ugly, uncouth bulging.

2)The cups will also fit both your breasts cozily. If the cups leave behind extra space in front and appear to resemble semi-deflated balloons (!) the bras is clearly large for you.

3)The bra should support your breasts comfortably and completely. Even a slipped off strap should not dislocate it.

We all have at least one of those dresses that simply have no room for a bra to be worn under it. Now, I am personally much in favour of women skipping the whole bra routine entirely, but I understand that it tends to get difficult for some of us to do without the extra support.

A good way to judge whether or not you are in need of a bra is to place a pencil (!) under the curve of your breast, just where it falls over your chest. If the pencil stays, held firmly in position by the breast then you’d rather get yourself a strong little brassiere. If it rolls of, you’ll probably be able to do without one.

Even if you do have to wear a bra underneath a dress, which doesn’t seem to be build to go over one don’t fret, too many varieties of brassieres are available in the market today. If you look hard enough you really are BOUND to find something that will suit your particular purpose. Check out the bikini bra’s to go under your sheer dresses. The halter bra’s, backless bras, push-up bra’s, sheer bras, sports bras all come handy at various points in your daily life.
Make sure you make the most of them.