Epiphanies from the Chic Side

Epiphany #1
Celebrity horse jockey, Frankie Dettori owns a fancy little Italian restaurant on "The Walk" at Jumeirah Beach Residence. Naturally, if something is fancy, my instinct is to just throw on some heels with whatever else I happen to be wearing, and it usually works out all right. Well, Frankie's is fancy, in that the raviolis are still ravioli's, but there aren't very many of them, they just cost a little bit more, and odds are, the company you're with tends to be a little bit fancier as well. So, good thing my heels did their job and spruced up the little denim skirt just fine. The thing is though, "The Walk" is cobbled, making my journey between cafe di Roma and Frankie's a complete pain-in-the-ass. And that's when it struck me: Cobbles and heels are stupid together, which is funny, considering shoe makers and fixers are called cobblers.

Epiphany #2
When you go out to dinner with fancy people, at a fancy little restaurant, in a fancy little city like Dubai, where shiny is in, and most everyone around you knows the difference between this season and last season's Gucci, always, always order from the expensive side of the menu. If one person orders drinks, order your own drink. Hell, order two. Here's why. If you're at said restaurant with said fancy people, and if you go, thinking you can order on the conservative side, and have a nice experience without going broke, you're wrong. You're wrong because some twat at the opposite end of the table is bound to say, "lets just split the bill," probably because that person feels a little bit too tipsy to care, and doesn't want to deal with doing 3rd grade math. As a creative who managed to turn the math side of my brain off a few years back, even I would be perfectly capable and willing to do it. I've got a brain, and a pencil and a phone with a calculator function. Bring it. Send the bill down to my end. It might take a while, but I'm ready and willing to tell you exactly how much you owe. Just don't expect the one kid at the table not wearing this season's LV or DG or P or G to cover your lazy-ass extravagant ordering habits. It's okay. I'm over it. The moral of the story? Order expensive, and let the rich assholes cover the difference. Sure Babycakes, lets split the bill. Better yet, if you're rolling in it, why don't you just cover my sirloin and 4 martinis, and we'll call it even. Cause clearly, while you're feeling lazy about a little bit of simple arithmetic, I'm thinking about how the economy's going down the toilet back home. Maybe you won't know the difference, but I will. And then on the way back home...there were those confounded cobbles again, trying to devour my heels for dessert.