Mummeeee what are you doing? I need to show you something!’ My six-year old daughter Emi was hammering on my bedroom door, which, unusually, I’d locked in the middle of the afternoon.
‘I’m…’ my mind was whirring. I stared at myself in a panic. What was I doing?
I was actually in the middle of trying to take a sexy photo for Eliot, before he went away for a month. At that very moment, I was half in, half out of a madly expensive Agent Provocateur basque I’d bought online without knowing how many hooks and eyes it had. The basque was smaller than I thought – or I was bigger – so every time I got five of the hooks into the eyes, another five popped undone.
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