Saturday, 18 July 2009
You know how I said in my previous posting that I was a terrible, terrible wife?
Well, I take it back. I am actually a lovely wife. Tolerant, supportive and understanding. It is my husband who is just terrible!
Honestly. I wonder if an English wife would put up with what I have put up with!
He says he is doing it for us. To secure some future, blah-blah. So, besides his consultancy work, he needs something else: his own business that would generate some additional income, he says. Fair enough. He picks his off-roading hobby, and decides it would be a good idea to design his dream vehicle and then start selling some of those.
As an Azeri woman, I would prefer if he took up something more stylish say, Ferrari. The whole off-roading thing is just not my cup of tea.
Part of the whole trying to sell the cars thing involves taking part in shows and competitions. This weekend was important; something he has spent the last few months getting ready for. A big off-roading car show. For which he of course, got some marketing bits: sponsor drinks, you know… fake tattoos for kids, some beer and even a cool musician friend, who agreed to hang about and play a guitar.
But great minds don't stop at the usual, boring lot. Husband decided to do it properly. Like his off-roading Gods in the states would. So he hired some models. ( I want to say tottie, but it is an offensive term, isn't it? so let's call them models)
£115 quid per day. Two of them. Size 30F or thereabouts.
Imagine the excitement! The discussions with envious mates, who were not fortunate enough to have a start-up that justifies such marketing strategy!
I was not sure, to be honest, whether I wanted to attend the show (about 2 hrs away) and witness two artificially enhanced girls drape themselves over (hopefully only) our car. But being the supportive wife that I am, I made myself look the best I could, packed the child and mother in my Skoda, and took off to check on our hmm… situation.
-Oh,- said one of them, when she saw me appear- I am nervous now, the wife is here!
-So you should!- I replied.
The ‘girl’ turned out a lot older than on the photo I had seen before, but friendly and quite happy to just stand at the car, looking silly and cheerful with her huge melons in a white bikini top.
The other one, however, was not prepared to do any work. She sat under the gazebo, constantly texting someone, with a pretty miserable face on. She only got up once when I asked to take a photo with them (as you do)
The way she kept drawing the shirt over her chest would make you think she got there by accident. She appeared uncomfortable and annoyed with everyone looking at her.
And that’s when I realized that I actually would make a pretty good Madam.
I reckon I probably ran a brothel in the previous life. Because what I was most annoyed about today was not the fact that my husband was admiring some huge breasts. I was pretty pissed off about the fact that this girl was not working for the money we paid her. I mean, she was not paid to sit around, looking demure. I can do that pretty well myself, thank you very much. She was not paid to cover her impressive chest with our company shirt as if she was some Azeri virgin.
Come on, I felt like saying, take off that shirt and go to that car, and smile for a change, and make us feel like you were worth that £115 per day! (Plus lunch and beer.)
But I said nothing. I just chatted to them, had a drink, discussed the weather and left them to it. I do hope the blond one takes that shirt off at some point though, otherwise husband will get in trouble.