You may have read in the better newspapers that it is becoming popular for ladies with a dedication to fashion to have their little toes removed in order to wear decent shoes. And why not indeed?
There’s been heaps of predictable brouhaha from bleeding-heart liberals about bleeding-footed fashion victims but really darlings it is just such tosh. If a girl wants to squeeze into a slim Manolo Blahnik but has a foot like a blacksmith’s daughter, what is she to do? Wear a pair of Clarks? I don’t think so.
If a girl can’t wear a pair of decent shoes she’d be as well throwing herself off the nearest tall building, joining a convent or going on a date with John Leslie. Life just wouldn’t be worth living. What’s the point of having five toes if you can’t slip them into something gorgeous?
I know a couple of gals of my acquaint who have been under the scalpel in order to make the slipper fit. Pippi van Muflin had both of her littlest tootsies removed — she had them sent off to Iraqi orphans who had tragically lost limbs in the great war — so that she could wear a darling pair of Jimmy Choo’s to a bash at Henny Throckmorton’s. Imagine her delight when she got there to see Kate Winslett wearing a pair of shoes as wide as lifeboats on the Titanic. La Winslett is a ten-toed girl if I ever I saw one. Mieow.
My young cousin Marina — Tufty Trumpton’s eldest — had half of each little toe removed but that is so typical of the wretched girl. She is so timid that she still hasn’t allowed so much as a single footman to turn her eider down. Her maman, the peroxide strumpette Deila herself, has hired the most scrumptious stud-muffins that money can buy but the idiot girl remains a resident of Virginia. Tufty fears she is saving herself for her younger brother Ralph but I hear he’s been going through the downstairs maids like Sars through a Chinese restaurant.
Anyway darlings, toes. Personally I am fortunate enough to have feet so slim they could slip effortlessly into any glass footwear presented by gay footmen sent around on behalf of a charming prince of the realm. It’s all thanks to centuries of fine breeding and a nanny who was once gainfully employed at the home of several Japanese geishas. Ah, the many uses I’ve had for those bandages ever since.
That’s not to say I wouldn’t partake of some corrective surgery if it were necessary darlings. If the black day ever dawned that I could not persuade any barman south of Leicester to fill up my glass of bubbly with little more than a flutter of my lashes and the promise of unnatural sex then I’d be under the knife before you could say Dr Bollinger. A girl must retain her charm.
Just last week I had to have an offending digit removed and believe you me, Alastair Campbell won’t try that again in a hurry. You would have thought the scruffy oik would have had enough trouble with the Kelly probe without trying one of his own. I told anyone who would listen about him being the Prime Minister’s official pokesman and he quickly scurried back to his drain. Did I say that out loud? I certainly did.
Oh darlings, how time flies. I’ve barely time to tell you the skinny about the scrumdiddlyumptious Prince William and his flight to Africa last week. Well a little birdie tells me that his passage was eased by two very helpful stewardesses and as luck would have it that isn’t illegal in the country they were flying over at the time. There’s been lots of fuss of about Wills and the dik-dik but from what I hear his highness is so well-off that just one word wouldn’t cover it. If I ever confirm that at first hand then be sure that you will be the first to know.