I went to see Coco Before Chanel the other day with my friend Kate. (Who did not buy the heels by the by. Her reason being that she did not have anything to go with them. My thinking would have been more along the lines of "Yay! Now I have to buy a whole new outfit/selection of outfits to go with my delectable and utterly impractical new shoes." But that is just me and these are hard times, so I will let it go...)
Anyway, the film was delightful. And with the exception of an incident with a bag of popcorn that incurred the wrath of a terribly po faced employee and an inopportune nose blow (or trumpet, more accurately) that caused me to shake in my seat with barely concealed mirth for about five minutes, I really enjoyed myself.
And strangely now I find that all I want to do is wear row upon row of pearls and have a cigarette permanently dangling out of the corner of my mouth while wearing black and being terribly French and saying this like "As long as you know men are like children, you know everything!"
You don't think I will seem excessively affected, do you?
5 days ago