So it hangs on my arm, finally. Thanks to Rohini, (Mwah, mwah, girl!), I finally got my hands on a real China fake LV monogrammed shoulder sling. And as you can well imagine, I’ve been overjoyed. Yup. With the fake. Now that I’ve had it on my shoulder for two weeks, I’ve ceased to feel self conscious about it being the fake. I mean, I’ve carried fakes for years. I’ve had a D&G fake. No, make that two. I’ve had a really nice fake Versace complete with nice metallic Medusa head in gold, appropriate for feasting eyes on after donning protective eye gear. I have currently a fake Bottega which has sadly unravelled, a fake Jimmy Choo, a fake Prada, a fake Fendi and curiously enough, two original ones from Guess (Yep, I heard that snigger. Yep. Was loud and clear.) And many original Esbedas. And countless bags off the streets of Lokhandwala. All stuff which is use and throw. And all original rasta stuff.
A quick recce of the recesses of my bag wardrobe makes it abundantly clear that my bags are faker than Pamela Andersen. Which makes up for the rest of me which is all real. Yup, that little bulge you see there, above the waistband of the jeans, that is all real. All 100 per cent unadulterated fat. I have enough fat for autologous transplants to get me to 42 DD if I wish.
But let me not get greedy. No, no, I’m not wanting to topple over and fall down with the imbalance, but the bag situation is what I am talking about. The greed is now sated. And now that I am doine with the pleasure of toting around a LV monogrammed number, the desire to invest my life savings in an original has disappeared completely. I would rather save my fillings for better purposes. I would rather sell them to pay for more fillings, seeing as the teeth are on the point of all falling out in unison.
Seeing as each tooth will cost me as much as a Gucci bag on half price sale, I might as well smile broadly, end to end, when I meet people. Can teeth be a status symbol?