My man and Dior

Lonely days are over. And just like a child I am happy with my pressies... more Dior make-up. God, it's so sophisticatedly addictive. The deep blue packaging, the slick glass, all of which I know I'm paying for yet I buy anyway. Well actually I didn't buy it, the Mister did. Because Maltese Dior stockists are really backward. I read on the Internet that yet another Dior product is out, that means it will take at least six months to perhaps start prettifying Maltese Dior stands, but my Mister solves all that. I wonder how he does it. It would help if he looked gay but he looks anything but. I wonder how he goes up to the Dior rep and asks her about foundation. And he has no qualms about it, I just have to write whatever it is I want down on a scrap of paper and he just gets it. I have asked him if he's shy, and he just looks at me as if I had just spoken in Japanese. If it were the other way round, I'd be very painfully shy, but not him. And as if asking a female rep for foundation isn't enough, he also goes to the trouble of choosing shades. And he gets it right... always. He also manages to get a very big number of samples. Go figure. I have trouble walking up to a Dior counter on my own, and I'm a girl. He's a boy and he does it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I wish I were a little fly watching while the rep smears different shades of foundation on his wrist. That would be hilarious. And I just know what he'd do once he'd chosen the shade, hold his wrist out for the rep to clean it off! And he says he gets an awful lot of help, which I never get. Perhaps make-up reps thinks he's about to come out of the closet, feel sorry for him and help. That makes my man a closet man. Well it's almost Carnival, and there's bound to be a lot of Batmen, Supermen, Wondermen... and one Closetman.