My love of Diane Von Furstenberg

It's been a very long week made worse by my total fuck-ups on Wednesday night at work. I took the word of my co-writer that we were good to go home instead of approaching the editor myself (never a smart idea), and I forgot to remove a question so it looked like I was missing one. Not good, not good. I got a missive from the Managing Editor, which is never a good thing, so I have to be extra careful tonight with the questions I write for the Daytime Emmy's.

My great niece (yes, I have a great niece, my sister is 20 years older than me, and my niece is a year and a half older than me) is turning 18 this month and graduating from high school. God, I feel old.

Thank God for Diane von Furstenberg. When I put on one of her dresses, I feel gorgeous and sexy. I have never failed to turn heads when I wear one of her wrap dresses. Unfortunately they cost a fortune and I can only afford them when I go to one of her sample sales. Unfortunately the last few sales, there have been slim pickings.

I wore one of her dresses in London, and had an usual experience. I figured London was safe, so I wore my olive green leopard print DVF dress. I felt sexy and confident and it must have showed.

First at afternoon tea at The Waldorf, the waiter presented me with a tray laden without 10 small desserts. When I asked why, he told me that the chef asked if I was pretty and the waiter told him yes, so the chef decided I deserved some extra treats. Then on my way to the theatre, a waiter came out of an Indian restaurant, and chased me up Charing Cross Road, and into a bookstore where I tried to hide. That's the power of the DVF dress, it makes you very popular with waitstaff.

Now, I've discovered that DVF has an outlet at Woodbury Common.

Gulp!