By Aislinn De'Ath

By Aislinn De'Ath
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Thursday, 2 January 2014

Ways to feel like Bette Davis...

Reader, who is the most confident, powerful, gorgeous and witty Sex Bitch out there? Bette Davis of course. And she does it for herself. Not for any bloke. You wouldn't catch her wearing a onesie when she's alone and satin pjs only when she has, she wears them all the time. Or a floor length silk dressing gown. Then she eats truffles, while she listens to jazz records. A potential lover calls, and she laughs gaily down the phone at him. 'Daaaaarling.' (a glass of something warm and amber with ice is raised to her lips) 'Daaaaarling I simply can't. No no. No, I am simply indulging myself tonight.' She would probably watch something a bit trashy on the telly (she appreciates a little trash), but would do it whilst draped on a chaise lounge in a turban. The phone rings again. 'Well hello!' she breathes huskily (flicking through a Russian novel with a long, manicured finger), 'How simply devastatingly wonderful to hear from you! Married you say? Good for them. Me? Hah! Fie and fiddlesticks!' Down goes the receiver and she flicks over to David Attenborough as she pets an exotic looking kitten.

She goes to a club, not a 'dnst dnst dnst' club or one of those clubs where sweaty men with too much hair gel grind up against you, but a blues bar, where she sits on a stool and laughs with her fabulously catty friend Melvin as they drink cocktails that aren't on the menu but that the bartender just knows how to make. Later they'll go somewhere for food that isn't trendy, just dimly lit and marvellous. Nowhere that does salad ('Daaaaaarling. I simply can't be near salad, it's just so tiresome!') and nothing messy, like spaghetti. Maybe something tiny and perfectly formed, like sushi or tiny portions of fabulous things. She might lean against a window and eat a slice of very thin pizza with a cheeky glint in her eye ('I simply HAD to. It was just giving me the most marvelously desperate look').

When she goes on holiday, she'll walk round ruins in a very big hat and enormous sunglasses, hands in the pockets of her very loose palazzo pants, then she'll head back to the beach where she'll wear a simple but cleverly built swimsuit and lounge with a glass of juice and a book under a huge parasol ('Tanning Daaarling? How very droll of you!') and then head back to the fabulous hotel, flirting with the young bell boy as she goes. She makes it her mission to know the names of all of the staff because 'They work so terribly hard you know, and they're the sweetest of folk. Why I have half a mind to stay here forever and work with them!'

She doesn't get ridiculously drunk (we all know Dear Bette, and that if she does, she'll have the most tremendous rages, and no one wants that), she doesn't parp, nor drink anything that's not 'Simply the nectar of the gods Daaaarling' nor live a day that is not delightful. Everything she does is supremely delightful, even if it is just watching telly with her cat or going to a massively cheap all inclusive holiday, because there is no better way to hold yourself in her eyes.

And that is why we love her.
Even if we may only be like her 10% of the time...

Tarrah Reader!

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