I went to lunch with Sophie today. I normally bring her to small café but she insisted on paying and selected a swanky place in Malahide. If it doesn’t serve cocktails, it’s not on Sophie’s radar.
Knowing the restaurant in Malahide would be platinum posh and knowing Sophie would be perfectly groomed forced me to spend some of last month’s market profits getting my own hair styled.
I hate going to the hairdressers. I know women who love it, Sophie for one, but the mindless chatter about holidays and celebrity gossip isn’t for me. The stylists are half my age and stick thin. Some of the Mother Mafia regard their stylist as a member of the family and treat the salon as a modern-day confessional...
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