Wie wie!

Ah, the French… Now I know that most tarts have dreamt of spending an evening with a rather swanky looking Parisian, sipping on French champagne, paruzzing along the cobble-stone streets of Pari and being schmoozed in the language of looooooove… Well Friday night it was this tart’s turn – lucky lucky lady! My little rendezvous was just as expected – expect of course without the Pari part or the champers for that matter (it was offered but alas too many Tequilas meant that I totally forgot to say yes – Crombie I apologise muchos grandes for this fuck up, can’t believe I didn’t close the Moët deal!)

Anyhoo, my little French fucker turned out to not only be utterly snogable and a definite 9/10, but a Gucci rep! *shock, horror, coronary attack* I’m sorry I don’t think that has fucking sunk in yet so I’ll repeat myself – A FUCKING GUCCI REP! Of course this did not affect my judgment at all when deciding whether or not to snog the living Be-Jesus outta him, after all I am not a shallow tart ;) Super-H and I tried to understand what the fuck this gorgeous creature dressed head-to-tope in Gucci was saying (me trying rather pathetically to speak what small, useless amounts of Italian I know and Super-H trying to remember her school-girl French) after which, I decided that less talk and more action was most definitely required!

I do, however, fear that I owe Super-H and Crombie an apology for so not keeping it PG at all. Actually I think that apology needs to be extended to the whole of Qba as well *bashful smile*… My bad or was it my good?!