The daily grind of Lymp Duhdashyan

You think you have worries? I’ll give you an insight into my day, darlings.

The stupid maid, yeah, that one who doesn’t speak English, woke me at dawn and had the nerve to show me her timesheet. She wants me to sign it. Being all blurry this morning, I reached for my gold Parker pen and was just about to ornament it with my personal moniker flourish, when I noticed that she had put in for 24/7 attendance! At £10 an hour the agency would be charging me a bundle of wonga, darlings! Then they add their commission on top - don’t ASK me to calculate how fat the invoice would be, my brain doesn’t do extreme math before lunch and even then EW….

I sent her back down to the kitchen to get coffee while I rummaged around in the bedside thingy for some Prosac or Lithium. Found a miniature of brandy instead and sucked that thing dry.

Vision clearing, I despaired for my hair…. damn that plastic surgeon. Why wouldn’t he help me?

I fell back on my silk pillows and sulked until Mummy phoned.

“Olympia? Are you awake, dear?” rasped the nasty iPhone and I made some sort of sound to let her know that I am listening but not necessarily paying attention.

“Olympia! I have just sent you my latest insta, did you get it?” Mummy demanded. GOD! Why should I care what she does with her insta? “Yes, Mummy! It is lovely, gorgeous!”

I had to put on my Raybans to look at the thing….

“Must dash, Mummy! Got Pilates class in 10 mins…. ciao sweetie!” and I threw the phone under the covers while I launched myself at the dressing table to remind myself of how stupendously young and attractive I am, unlike her.

Have the lips recovered enough yet?

That stupid maid returned with some coffee and she was snivelling into a rather grey and soggy hankie.

“I hope you haven’t got Covid!” said I, recoiling as far away as I could get. She sobbed a bit, put the coffee on the dressing table and ran away. I pulled on a latex glove, we can’t be too careful, can we? I held the cup with two fingers and gratefully swallowed it down.

Spotting a wrapper among the make up, “Ah, there’s my little blue pills! Excellent!” I popped a couple and admired my new gluteus maximus in the mirror.

It is such a shame that the full plastic surgery job will take another couple of ops…. (sigh)

Gotta run, sweeties…. Ciao!