Women can be manipulative—even those who say they aren’t, have a more subtle approach to the art. As long as there is no element of demasculation, where is the harm? My mother used to say, “Ask, don’t get; don’t ask, don’t want.” I disagree.
I’ll be sure to set the scene for you…
This weekend, I spent the day at Westfield Shopping Centre, ten minutes from Paddington, with a rather delicious companion, surrounded by throngs of shoppers and designer stores. I managed to do a lot of my shopping, including some with Victor. I love shopping dates because I usually don’t get to spend a day queuing among other commoners, preferring to “add to cart” on Amazon.
So there we were, fingers entwined, our arms full of branded carrier bags. Victor had dragged me into practically every man’s clothes shop there (who says men aren’t fussy?), and I was longingly thinking of Kurt Geiger up on level one. I desperately wanted to slip my foot into the multi-coloured glitter stilettos that had been whispering lovingly to me from the website. As he tried on his fiftieth jumper, I mentally itemised my wardrobe to justify the £150, while subtracting the balance of my MasterCard from my credit limit.
Sensitive to others’ needs, I am adept at intervening before situations get out of control and Victor becomes frustrated. I wanted my shoes, and he wanted a change of scenery, so I suggested Pret a Manger, which was “coincidentally” on level one. Smelling the lure of coffee and fresh sandwiches, Victor offered me a smile as we ascended the escalator, and I mentally calculated that it would take 30 seconds to pass by my beautiful shoes once we were nourished.
A man with a full belly is a happy man – and a man open to bribery. Near the cafe was a huge Apple store with plenty of shiny laptops and iPads murmuring sweet nothings. Attention diverted from Fair Isle knitwear, Victor swung his hips through the door and took a lungful of Broadband. A London escort such as me must have patience as a virtue: the patience to accept her needs comes after those of her date. I watched Victor dribble over a MacBook Pro and counted down the minutes until I could lick the heel of that display shoe.
And then… a boom! Victor kissed my forehead and said, “Darling, you have been patient with me today. Let me buy a present for my beautiful girl. Shall we look at something for you?” I could have wept. “Oh, you don’t have to do that…” I said through my lashes. He made a pooh-pooh noise, and we fell into step… right past Kurt Geiger. And there they were… in the window, dazzling under the lights as I knew they would be… my shoes. Ten minutes later, I had a shiny gift bag dangling from my arm, and my date looked very pleased with himself as I let him “choose” a pair, though I can’t say product placement didn’t play a part.
Call me manipulative, then, if you want, but you can’t say that my gentleman friend wasn’t pleased to make me happy. The date had, as always, been about him and a trip to W12. I’m a big fan of West London, especially now that I know Kurt Geiger has a fantastic store there!
