Hot Shopping

 

The first time I was walking down Gardikiotis St with The Spitfire, and we spotted this wonderful sign, I said "Now there's one shop we will not be patronising" but La S is smart.

"Dad! That is like so clever. Everyone else will be going eeuww, no way am I shopping there.

It'll have the coolest stuff and the coolest staff and I'll get to look around and ask questions ... so like can we go in?"

 

En effet, the baubles and garmentry weren't as bad as I feared. All created for young ladies allergic to the touch of textile on flesh, of course, but not entirely of the Whore of Babylon boutique.

Like any sensible papa not wanting to spend the entire ouzo hour humming and huffing over the merits of napkin-sized skirts, I had my disapproving expressions ready:

"Oh no, no way are you wearing that anywhere near members of the opposite sex ("Yeah and that one.")

As for *that* ... are you serious? If your mother sees that- ("Yeh definitely that one. Did you say you have it in pink? Cool! Yah, both.")