All gain, no pain

In the words of bouffant haired little Lily Allen, it's not fair and I think you're really mean. Lagerfeld, Lagerfeld, Lagerfeld. First I wanted the bag. Then the shoes. Then the pearls. Then more shoes. Then the glasses. Then, oh yes, more shoes. And now you've made me want, oh horror of horrors, temporary tattoos. I don't think I've sponged one of those babies on since I was about twelve. I remember distinctly having a rather garish phoenix plastered upon my shoulder on a hot summers day at Primary school; the colours really were so gruesome that they remain seared into my head to this day. But I'd be more than happy to turn back time and forget all the faux pas that have gone before, and affix a few classy CCs onto my person. Nape? Shoulder? Wrist? The skinny little things on the catwalk had gorgeous garters of the tongue in chic tatts about the tops of their thighs (but with the weather as it is at the moment, I doubt anyone will be seeing more than my ankle in the near future. Too. Bloody. Cold) and wrapped around their forearms. Beautiful. I wasn't so keen on the clogs, but Karl's won me over with 55 cute individual designs featuring all the symbols that Chanel is known for. Available from March, I shall be onto Chanel immediately tomorrow to put my name on the waiting list, as I wouldn't be surprised if everyone works themselves into a frenzy a la the great "Jade Nail Paint Incident" of 09.
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