Ms Prim and Ms Proper take a bite out of the Big Apple

 

Prim and Proper were on their first ever transatlantic flight to New York and being members of the Executive Infrequent Flyers Club they had to check in early.

Prim was wearing her special motion sickness wristbands and Proper had a supply of plastic bags and Olbas oil ready for take off. Due to their  air travel sensitivities and Proper’s penchant for the dashing co-pilot that she had spotted in the departure lounge, the ladies were seated near the cockpit.

As the engines churned so did Prim’s stomach and she grabbed the sick bag.

“Don’t make a show of yourself,” admonished Proper, “we haven’t even got off the ground.”

“I can’t help it,” wailed Prim,”I just hate flying!”

“You’ve watched too many of those disaster movies,” replied Proper, settling into her economy seat, ”New York is just a hop, skip and a jump over the Atlantic.”

“Atlantic? The ocean?” said Prim nervously,” what if we hit an iceberg?”

“There are no icebergs in the air……but we might hit a few flying pigs!” teased Proper.

“Ladies, don’t worry about a thing,” said a deep, velvety voice behind them,” you’re in safe hands.”

The handsome co-pilot smiled at both of them and Proper’s heart melted….like an iceberg. She would love to be in those capable hands. Prim wasn’t sure about his hands or anything else at this precise moment. Her stomach was doing back flips and her head was throbbing.

Proper was more of a seasoned traveller as she had traversed the world from the comfort of her computer on Google Earth. From Bali to Burundi and Marrakesh to Margate; she was rarely sick in the air but Google Earth moved her taste buds and made her ever so peckish.

After a gruelling eight hour flight, the ladies found themselves in JFK airport standing in line for  immigration checks.

Prim thought they’d arrived in the land of frozen facial muscles as the official’s face did not move as he spoke.

“Botox,” declared Proper,” they’re all at it over here.”

 

Soon they were checked and cross checked and taken to their hotel.

Proper had big plans to go bananas in all the designer shops and Prim thought she’d rather just eat one.

Her stomach contents, together with her five-a-day, had been emptied and she was starving. Good old Proper had packed some bread and butter sandwiches and saved the day.

The next day, they went to the office to collect their New York pass so that they could take in all the major attractions. Apparently, it was the custom to “stand in line” on this side of the Atlantic and the customer service agent was in no hurry to get you out of the line.

“I’m going to pass out waiting for this pass,” cried Prim, who wanted to savour the culinary delights of  a Kroberry Kronut.

After getting the pass and by this time, Prim and Proper were convinced that they were the only ones with movable faces as they tittered and giggled to their heart’s content.

“What funny people!” exclaimed Proper, “ so what do you want to see first?”

“The Museum of Sex please,” declared Prim

“Whaaat?”

“Yes, I want to know how it’s done US-style!”

“You will do no such thing,” said Proper,” we’re not here to look at the white goods. I know you have this fascination with electrical things but we can see Battery Park later!”

“Do you know where Lady Liberty is?” asked a young woman with a thick French accent.

“Oh la la, Madame eez on the ile of Ellis,” replied Proper in her best French that she’d learnt from Henri, their exchange visitor.

“Lady Liberty is indisposed today but you’ll find her at Downton Abbey, “ added Prim……thinking that she must be the American version of Lady Muck.

Proper glared at her and knew that only a little designer retail therapy would fix her mood.

The ladies stepped into Macy’s and found themselves engulfed in brands, bags, cosmetics and linens.

Proper’s head was swivelling like she was possessed and her eyes took in every nook and cranny.

Magnificent Michael Kors, captivating Calvin Klein, delicious Donna Karan, downright gorgeous Dolce & Gabbana, vivacious Vera Wang and juicier than juicy Juicy Couture….Proper thought she’d died and gone to designer heaven!

Prim eyed those price tags with suspicion.

“Look,” squealed Proper,” Guess!”

“I couldn’t possibly guess or even speculate on how many sweat shops have supplied these luxury brands,” said Prim.

“Guess jeans!” hissed Proper,” they’re really trendy!”

Prim knew that anything that cost four figures wasn’t worth guessing the price of.

After shopping they needed some refreshments.

There was so much on offer in the Big Apple: Pikabs (aka Pizza Kebab) First immigrant Pie (aka Cottage Pie) Croc-in-the -swamp (Toad in the hole), Polka-Dot Pecan Pie (Spotted Dick), Groundnut Zero (aka Strudel), Humble Crumble (Prim and Proper’s fave) and AK-47 Rifle trifle (aka Delia Smith’s family favourite).

Not only were there so many fusions of food but people too.

Their tour guide on the “Lucky-if-you-can-hop-on-and-grateful-to-hop-off bus” said that he was Pandorrian – his mother was from Peru and his father from Andorra. They also met a Philadelaskian – half Philadelphia and half Alaska – and it reminded Proper that she liked her Alaska baked.

“My aunt May Belline lives here,” said Prim, on their last day.

May Belline – that name rang a bell.  The cosmetics brand thought Proper, perhaps they could get some freebies.

“Where does she work?”

“In the Twin Towers,” said Prim, sniffing.

“Oh…is she a survivor?”

“Oh yes….she took her hubby to the cleaners and wrote a book all about surviving divorce called “The X files,” explained Prim.

“And where is she now?”

“Owns an island in the Bahamas and lives there in the winter with her very own Man-Friday!”

The next landmark the ladies took in was the neck breaking Empire State.

“Oooh, I feel dizzy,” said Proper as the elevator zoomed to the observation level as she felt the pizza she’d had  for lunch flip in her stomach.

Prim has seen “King Kong” and  wondered if the gorilla had got an Oscar for his performance. She felt quite overawed and as she peeped over the iron railings.

 “They’re land animals you know…not supposed to be on top of buildings!” mumbled Prim.

“What are you talking about?

“King Kong……he certainly had a head for heights didn’t he?”

Proper pursed her lips together. She didn’t want to burst Prim’s bubble…if she wanted to believe in King Kong then so be it. Prim was an ardent animal lover!

The Big Apple was certainly large with plenty to do for the avid shopper (Proper) and even amongst the smart boutiques of Fifth Avenue there was some spiritual sustenance in the form of St Patrick’s cathedral so Prim’s needs were taken care of too.

New York, New York….the ladies did enjoy this juicy fruit (quite unlike a Granny Smith’s)…..and Prim and Proper had chewed it to the core.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ms Prim and Ms Proper......buy a time share

 Ms Prim and Proper were relaxing in their conservatory. Proper had her feet up, a cup of strong Darjeeling in her hand and was engrossed in a riveting episode of “Murder She Wrote.” Prim was staring at the rivulets of rain that ran down the glass and surrounded by the voile curtains she imagined herself in a harem ripe for ravaging. Of course, she didn’t share her thoughts with Proper who’d be thoroughly disgusted but Prim, in another life, would have been quite improper!

 

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and Prim leapt up a  too energetically. Oh dear, thoughts of ravagement made her jumpy.

 

Prim opened the door to be confronted by a tall man in a pin stripe suit, a trilby and carrying a briefcase.

 

“I’m a salesman with something to sell to beautiful women,” he said with a gentle smile.

 

Prim gasped. He had the same stature and features as the man who she’d imagined ravaging her.

 

“Um…oh….I….” mumbled Prim, all of a fluster.

 

Proper was behind her, wondering who was disturbing her finding out the identity of the murderer of the drag queen.

 

“Who are you here to see?” she asked, wondering if Prim had given their address to some waif or stray. Prim was soft headed and could never say no.

 

“I’m here to see two beautiful ladies with exquisite taste and brilliance,” he said, beaming. His teeth were even and positively gleaming and Proper could never resist a man with good dental work.

 

“Er..come in,” she said, ushering him into the living room.

 

Proper glanced at herself in the mirror and primped her hair.

 

Prim gawped at Proper, she was preening herself oh so properly!

 

“So what can you do for us?” asked Proper looking into his eyes that were a piercing blue and admiring his chiselled jaw line.

 

Prim had noticed that Proper fawning over the handsome stranger. He was quite heart-stoppingly gorgeous with dark hair, wide shoulders, washboard abs (she surmised) and warm and friendly eyes.

 

“I’m the Imagination salesman,” he said in a husky voice,” I sell ideas and if you  buy I’ll give you something to make your eyes sparkle, your heart throb and your body sing.”

 Mses Prim and Proper were all ears though Proper was a  sceptical.

 

“And does this cost a lot of money?” she asked.

 

Prim was getting a touch irritated. It was just like Proper to spoil the party and talk about boring old money.

 

“No,” he said leaning towards Proper, “ there’s no money involved…you only need to sign on the dotted line!”

 

Proper swooned as she drank in his scent; “B & S” she was sure of it, an expensive brand and he had cufflinks to match. How cultured  - a man who knows how to dress she thought as she undressed him with her eyes.

 

Prim also felt herself strangely drawn to this man.

 

“What sort of ideas would do for me?” asked Prim, trying to fence in her imagination that was running wild with all kinds of things she’d like to do with this man.

 

“I see sunsets, sunrises and soft, sandy beaches, cocktails,” he whispered as if in a trance.

 

“Cocktails?” said Proper, “ I’m afraid we don’t drink!”

 

“Speak for yourself,” said Prim, suddenly animated,” I had a mocktail once.”

 

“And you were hungover for a week on a non-alcoholic drink,” cried Proper.

 

“I didn’t know I was allergic to mangoes!” said Prim.

 

“Ladies,” the stranger said,” I see you are both like-minded.”

 

Proper looked at Prim doubtfully – Prim was a bit of a stuffed shirt and Proper didn’t really know how to hang loose so she guessed they were.

 

Prim disappeared and then reappeared with a plate of scones. She’d have this stranger eating out of her hand.

 

“Coffee, tea or me?” she said, breathlessly.

 

“Oh my dear…not before you’ve signed on the dotted line,” said the stranger.

 

Proper pursued her lips at Prim’s wanton antics. Any moment and she’d rip her bodice open for all and sundry to see.

 

“So let’s get down to business,” she said sitting close to the stranger that their knees almost touched, “ what do you want us to buy?”

“Fifty shades of sand, sea & sunshine,” he whispered touching Ms Proper’s hand ever so gently.

 

 

Prim pursed her lips; Proper was making a right show of herself. Fifty shades….fifty shades…..where had she heard that before? Of course, at the DIY store, fifty shades of damson was what she’d decided to paint the shed with.

 

“What’s the name of your company?”

 

“Hook, Line & Sinker.”

 

“Oh, is this something to do with fishing?” asked Proper.

 

“The time share is set in a picturesque location……miles of white sand, close to the turquoise ocean with tiny cabanas to enjoy candlelit dinners on the beach under a million stars.” the man said putting an application form in front of her.

 

Proper peered at the form and signed it; she was sold.

 

“I suppose I could take my knitting along and Prim could bring along her “Cluedo” .”

 

“When do we get to see it?” asked Prim

 

“First you have to pay a deposit of £1000 and then monthly instalments of £500 for the rest of your life,” he said smiling like a cat who’d got the cream.

 

“For life?” whispered Proper, “you mean this is forever?.”

 

“And you always told me that nothing’s forever,” said Prim.

 

The man had grasped Proper’s hand and was stroking it. His eyes were like blue magnets.

 

“You won’t regret a thing!” he said, placing the form into his briefcase.

 

Proper felt as if she was walking on air.

 

“Will we see you again?”

 

“Of course, we have to go and check out your holiday home. Pack your bikinis!”

 

Prim and Proper sighed as they showed the handsome man out of the door.

 

“What have I done?” cried Proper having an epiphany.

 

“Your head and your heart exchanged places, had a fist fight, your heart stomped on your head and probably needs hospitalisation,” declared Prim.

 

Proper threw her a withering look.

 

“I suppose you were an innocent bystander!”

 

“I was studying his bulging biceps, impeccable pecs and magnificent structure….for my art portfolio,” replied Prim, her cheeks a tad flushed.

 

“You need a long, cold shower, Ms!” retorted Proper.

 

“Oh…wasn’t he just a the epitome of gorgeousness?” sighed Prim, unbuttoning her top button.

 

“Yes, but I’ve just committed the cardinal sin of spending money on frivolity,” said Proper, in despair.

 

“Think of it this way, we’re going to share time with bare chested hunks in speedos. Think of that firm flesh on show.”

 

“Oooh, it’s not Proper!” exclaimed Proper,” but she knew she’d sleep a  better tonight with unbridled lust to keep her warm.

 

“I’m going to let my imagination run wild…..I can’t wait to share time,” Prim squealed like a stuck pig, “get your holiday packing list ready and away we go!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ms Prim & Ms Proper.....vist an art gallery

Mses Prim & Proper had got tickets for the local art and waxworks exhibition and they were very excited.

 

Ms Proper was kitted out in a demure twin set complete with a matching pearl necklace and earrings whilst Ms Prim was wearing an elegant Laura Ashley dress with a fascinator.

 

“A fascinator?” frowned Proper, “we’re not going to Ascot!”

 

Prim blew the feathers out of her eyes.

 

“Well, we’re going to be mixing with high brow people, we’ve got to look the part,” she said, “ I hear Mr Rich-B’Stard and Mr Snobb, the art critics and other celebrities are going to be there.”

 

“You better keep out of their way, you know nothing about art or wax,” said Proper disparagingly.

 

“And you do?”

 

“I got a candle-making kit one Christmas and made candles and put them all around the house. I also won third prize for my picture of a crow in Year 7,” declared Proper, proudly.

 

“That Christmas,” cried Prim, rolling her eyes,” you set fire to the curtains in the living room and your picture of a crow looked strangely like Ms Head-Butt, the PE teacher, and she had you doing extra laps around the field for your trouble.”

 

“I’ve moved in important circles, Prim.”

 

“The Book Circle, the Stitch & Bitch Circle, the Green Fingers Circle, The Menopause Circle, the Bible Circle, the Ping-Pong Circle and the Swingers Circle,” replied Prim, counting on her fingers.

 

“Aah, the  Swingers,” said Proper, adding some blusher to her cheeks, “I thought it was a gymnastics club!”

 

Soon the ladies were in a black cab, dressed in their finery, ready for an evening of art and wax.

 

As they arrived they were greeted by Mr Mick Angel ,one of the exhibitors who lead them to his display.

 

It was a row of empty milk bottles.

 

“So what you do think?” he said

 

“ Pragmatic quirk, with just the right hint of aesthetics,” replied Proper. She’d been swotting up on the jargon.

 

“I see you’re a connoisseur, my dear,” said Mick Angel fawning.

 

 “My learned companion is more of a Bacardi kind of gal and mine’s a Baby cham,” said Prim.

 

Proper gave Prim a swift kick.

 

“I don’t indulge usually but I can make an exception this time,” said Proper, admiring his bone structure.

 

“And what you think of this piece of fine art?” asked Mick Angel, his eyes fixed on Prim’s  cleavage.

 

“Foamy, frothy and sweet!” said Prim noticing that Mick Angel was getting a little hot under the collar, “ breasts are useful in the production of milk.”

 

Mick Angel’s face was flushed as he gazed adoringly at the soft, flesh on display.

 

“Let’s move on,” said Proper grabbing Prim and guiding her towards some paintings.

 

“I love the impressionists,” said Prim.

 

“Get that fascinator out of your eyes and you might see something. Your boobs have already made a big impression!” said Proper, crossly.

 

Prim and Proper gazed at the splashes, dashes, slashes and crashes of shapes and colour that didn’t make any sense until they came to the Life exhibition.

 

“Erection” by Mervy Pervie was standing centre-stage.

 

“It looks like the Twin Tower,” said Prim.

 

“That was a steel construction,” said Mr Rich-B’stard,” this is raw flesh.”

 

“This would have withstood a terrorist attack, I’m sure ,” said Prim, staring at it until she was nearly cross-eyed.

 

“Are there any crudities on offer?” asked Proper with a sickly sweet smile; her stomach was rumbling.

 

“Yes, we have Gonorrhea – a Gothic work by  new artist Hanky Pankie, who is not afraid to dabble. Phelgm is also thought provoking and you could get swallowed up in it. My particular favourite is Cradle Cap by Aloe Pecia & Dan Druff, it leaves you with flakes of inspiration.”

 

Prim was getting rather bored with this drivel and spied Mr Snobb sitting on a bench. She made a bee-line for him and sat next to him talking animatedly. It wasn’t only Proper who knew her art.

 

Proper wandered around the wax museum, standing next to famous statesmen, sportsmen and actors. She stood next to David Beckham and imagined herself as Victoria. Next to Mahatma Gandhi she thought herself as Indira, next to Peter Andre, she was Katie Price (but not nearly as well endowed) and next to Rod Hull, she felt like Emu!

 

She noticed Prim was sipping at a glass of wine whilst Mr Snobb was slumped on the bench just as he’d been when she’d left them.

 

Proper approached and indicated to Prim that it was time to go.

 

“But I’m in the middle of an interesting discussion with Mr Snobb,” wailed Prim who always got loud after one glass; two glasses and she was like a pneumatic drill!

 

“Mr Snobb is a busy man,” said Proper, sticking her nose in the air.

 

“Oh Mr Snobb,” cried Prim slipping her arm through his,” I think we should do this again; it’s been fun!”

 

Mr Snobb didn’t move a muscle.

 

“What’s been fun?” asked a rotund gentleman with heavy jowls.

 

“M…Mr…Mr Snobb!” cried Proper aghast, her head turning from the figure on the bench.

 

“I never knew there could be two Snobbs in one gallery,” said Prim.

 

“There aren’t,” said Mr Snobb, “that’s a wax caricature of me. Good isn’t it?”

 

Proper threw Prim a dirty look and hustled her outside.

 

“You’ve been talking to a wax work?!”

 

“What a good listener…that’s how I like a man…silent!” said Prim.

 

The two ladies both walked towards the café and ordered two strong teas realising how exhausting and exhilarating art could be.