This week, Dali mother concocts plan against her husband's miserliness approach
If James no small wave, he would marry me (sighs).
If James no small wave, he would marry me (sighs).
However, the bad weather, the path to storm battered hedge funds, James - is less than happy. The first half of the fiscal year ending, now have lots of efforts to produce usually round is rich in the New Year.
However, despite formidable challenge is to all concerned, I and his perfect husband felt happy sidekicks cautious, subdued. Mom in the capital Dudley could soon be feeling the pinch (OHMYGOD)!
Last week, I come back to work in a perfect man and nervous. Although he claims that his team is more effective than the carrot, he responded again, I will take my "(he have what mean? I have an adolescent girls, and, before the way, I his mama of incentive?).
He asserted futuristic, I will hold "eat" in our home his entire team next week so that they can immersing in informal team construction, or in "a hug."
How dare he? James to whether we as a form of relief whiz kids - for financial failure? He took my character and Nigella Lawson refrigerator choc - full kaffir leaves and several varieties of lime pasta, ready?
The sight of her Rubenesque form is enough to make me consider colonic lavage; why, I could fit my entire body into the arm of one of her cardigans. I was about to instruct the housekeeper to call in the caterers and my PA to call in my lawyers when I had the most amazing plan…
I skipped along to my new favourite discount supermarket in Peckham this morning, where among the clinically obese, faux Tommy Hilfiger-clad masses of South East London, I hand-selected a variety of sliced cold meats (parma ham, chorizo and salami), mozzarella, jars of capers, artichokes and olives, all buzzing with additives and E numbers, and with a sell-by date of sometime in 2015.
I shall instruct Albena to throw together some homemade bread and construct a gastronomic display of antipasti so inviting and luscious that my husband and his lardy colleagues will salivate and gorge themselves like a pack of rabid wolves.
I ordered a stash of super Chablis from my chums at Majestic Wines, and covertly purchased a couple of cases of alternative whites from the aforementioned German discount supermarket chain (my PA Samantha insists that it is perfectly palatable) to substitute when the boys are too ethanolic to care.
This afternoon, I cunningly diverted the funds I saved to the Net-a-Porter sale, in support of my other love: Mr Herve Leger. I have selected some perfect lingerie to define and optimise my figure underneath the new vacuum packed, bandage-like ensemble.
However, despite formidable challenge is to all concerned, I and his perfect husband felt happy sidekicks cautious, subdued. Mom in the capital Dudley could soon be feeling the pinch (OHMYGOD)!
Last week, I come back to work in a perfect man and nervous. Although he claims that his team is more effective than the carrot, he responded again, I will take my "(he have what mean? I have an adolescent girls, and, before the way, I his mama of incentive?).
He asserted futuristic, I will hold "eat" in our home his entire team next week so that they can immersing in informal team construction, or in "a hug."
How dare he? James to whether we as a form of relief whiz kids - for financial failure? He took my character and Nigella Lawson refrigerator choc - full kaffir leaves and several varieties of lime pasta, ready?
The sight of her Rubenesque form is enough to make me consider colonic lavage; why, I could fit my entire body into the arm of one of her cardigans. I was about to instruct the housekeeper to call in the caterers and my PA to call in my lawyers when I had the most amazing plan…
I skipped along to my new favourite discount supermarket in Peckham this morning, where among the clinically obese, faux Tommy Hilfiger-clad masses of South East London, I hand-selected a variety of sliced cold meats (parma ham, chorizo and salami), mozzarella, jars of capers, artichokes and olives, all buzzing with additives and E numbers, and with a sell-by date of sometime in 2015.
I shall instruct Albena to throw together some homemade bread and construct a gastronomic display of antipasti so inviting and luscious that my husband and his lardy colleagues will salivate and gorge themselves like a pack of rabid wolves.
I ordered a stash of super Chablis from my chums at Majestic Wines, and covertly purchased a couple of cases of alternative whites from the aforementioned German discount supermarket chain (my PA Samantha insists that it is perfectly palatable) to substitute when the boys are too ethanolic to care.
This afternoon, I cunningly diverted the funds I saved to the Net-a-Porter sale, in support of my other love: Mr Herve Leger. I have selected some perfect lingerie to define and optimise my figure underneath the new vacuum packed, bandage-like ensemble.
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