All of us women are not all from the same mould. Although I appreciate some women would happily roll in the hay with a Heathcliff lookalike, I am the type to drink champagne whilst elevated on the shoulders of a Duke or check-in at The Connaught last minute because I need a cat nap. It's ok, my pappa went to Eaton with the owner.
This will be a brief intro regarding what high-maintenance Lucifer-esque women want. Now this is a subject that one could make money from, yet it really isn’t all that complicated. It’s pretty simple: if you are from money and born into money, you going to be more comfortable surrounded by money. So for those of you who don’t have it and don’t aspire to make it, cease reading. For those of you who have understood, let me take you into a journey, that will help you secure that women of your dreams…
Now, it’s not a matter of you purchasing a villa in the Bahamas and sending me there every year; a luxury pad in Ibiza would do nicely. Nevertheless, let’s not keep it too real and maintain exclusivity. We don’t want to be mingling with the average man on the high street. Having said that, a quick slap and tickle with a rough and ready member of the male species is quite acceptable, but you certainly won’t make any declarations and take him home to daddy.
With that said, it is important to keep me in the environment I am accustomed to so yes: expensive meals, bottle and bottles of champagne and the odd gifted Boodles bespoke diamond won’t go amiss. More than anything else, the well-heeled girl likes a gentleman. Nothing is more enchanting than a man with good manners who says the right things and possesses the right attributes: kindness, generosity and very graciousness. Ultimately, holidays are always for trying to find the right person; we all know if one can tolerate each other on vacation, with a little tweaking, this could be a marriage made in heaven.
The closest I get to cooking is blending a maca powder and spinach smoothie for breakfast. The fight to stay youthful began at twenty one where every morsel of food is monitored before in enters my mouth. As a result, you can guess what else I’m fussy about putting in my mouth…straws! Straws cause me to purse my lips which encourage wrinkles. I take photos next to sweet treats whilst showing off my half-naked body and send them to all the ex’s who escaped my wrath as well as the idiots who try to compete with me. I also want my sycophants to believe that I eat everything but look gorgeous due to my amazing genetics.
When it comes to dinner, I expect to be taken out three times a week to the latest hotspot. I don’t care if the food is good because the only thing that will play with it is my fork. I want heads to turn and mouths to drop which is why I will wear only premium labels.
I most probably purchase a new item of clothing every day. Rather than rely on a man to purchase a matching blouse for my pin-stripe Proenza Schouler twill trousers, I prefer an open credit account – on your name – where I can shop to my hearts delight! Don’t ever remind me how much I spent because frankly, I don’t give a damn as its your money, not mine.
I am not an escort because my father funds my wallet-burdensome lifestyle and I don’t have family abroad I need to support. However, I am certain that my high maintenance tendencies have goaded past boyfriends to run – temporarily – into the arms of a high-class escort. It allowed them to experience fun companionship with no strings attached and the damage to the wallet was considerably less than an hour spent with me. Ultimately, my cherubs always came back to me before 10pm because their careers rested on the level of favourability my father had towards them. Didn’t I tell you that once I catch a ball, I don’t let go?
However, I hasten to add to all you penniless low-lives, don’t get aspirations above your stations. I am still too expensive for you.
Touché to all you losers – Princess above your station