Dear Diary,
The boutique needed a few odd jobs doing, so I decided to respond to a local newspaper advertisement. Charlie the Handy Man arrived early this morning to fix up a few more clothes rails and an extra shelf or two. One must always be careful when allowing Tradesmen onto the premises. Always insist on a good character reference before leaving a Handy Man alone in your fashion boutique.
The salon was furiously busy when Charlie presented himself on my doorstep with a tool bag and a friendly smile. Certainly an affable sort of chap, Charlie quickly convinced me that he’s the sharpest tool in the box. So I was thrilled to just let him get on with it whilst I managed my regular salon ladies.
Throughout the morning, the ladies complained of screeching drills, perpetual banging and the awful grating of saws. Anne-Marie had to turn up the “Swing Time” radio show to full volume on the wireless set and drown out the awful din. We hardly noticed when the boutique became strangely quiet. A sure sign that Charlie’s task was complete, so I decided to go and inspect the handy work.
Jeepers creepers!! Oh what a shock!
I swear that I’ll never, ever understand the duplicitous nature of the male of our species!
As bold as brass and posing before the mirror, Charlie had clothed himself in the new
Alika Circle green dress with the pretty netting detail around the shoulder and cute bow around the waist! Fiddling with a black ostrich feather fascinator, Charlie was so engrossed with his new image that it was quite sometime before he noticed me standing there.
His reaction to my presence was so entirely unexpected that I became absolutely speechless. Raising the skirt hem from his hairy knee Charlie revealed the cantankerous beginnings of a ladder in his stocking. I was utterly bemused yet curiously intrigued when Charlie very sweetly asked me to help him fix this cumbersome flaw in his vision of perfection. I found myself dutifully assisting with a spot of clear nail varnish strategically applied to stop the ladder running any further. There’s simply nothing worse than a ruined stocking.
