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Tuesday, August 14, 2007

The Naughty Girls Guide.

Tuesday August 14, 2007
From Times Online

You know, there’s so much more you can be getting away with in life. There’s no need to be so nice. Life is so much better when you’re naughty. There was a time when we both thought life sucked. Men have broken our hearts. We’ve worked for absolute swines. Sharon got so fat through sulking, she ended up doing a TV diet show. Tara got so thin, the paparazzi needed magnifying glasses to find her. We’ve been at our lowest ebb. We’ve even worn flat shoes. But it was time to pull our stockings up. Forget the 12 steps to recovery. We’ve gone straight to step 13 – the naughty step:

Grant us the serenity to accept that singledom does not always suck
Courage to realise the search for Mr Right may well reach double figures
And the wisdom to know that even if that ex-lover list hits treble figures, you’re not a slag. You’re just unlucky

So sling on your Louboutins, pour yourself a lychee martini, settle back and learn the rules (incidentally, if you are in rehab, then well done and keep it up. Whenever we say alcohol, we mean a slice of chocolate cake for you). {Continued click READ MORE below}

Just been dumped? While waiting for his calls it is acceptable to pace the floor, chain-smoke, take four baths to help you relax, cry, let your stomach churn, spend hours staring at the phone, pour your heart out to your friends and repeatedly reread his old texts for any clues of just when and why he changed his mind about you. It is unacceptable to tearfully ring him in the middle of the night and demand to know why he doesn’t love you. If you’ve done any of the following, we’re extremely cross with you:

You’ve been crying over his photographs Okay, he won’t know, but it’s time to pull yourself together.

You’ve been listening obsessively to that last voicemail message of his Oh, just give us the phone so we can delete it. You’ll drive yourself mad.

You sold the story of your “heartache” to a tabloid newspaper Okay,but we would have preferred a glossy. We just hope you got a fair price for it.

You phoned him after that last “you’ve been dumped” conversation, begging him to change his mind That’s the limit. You’re starting to look desperate. It’s not as if he’s Brad Pitt.

You phoned a friend of his. To beg for his help to get him back Oh, for goodness’ sake, girl!

You phoned his mother You’re boring us now.

You’ve been loitering outside his home, looking at his bedroom window No, no, no. Do not go there again. You should be loitering in your own bedroom. With someone else.

You’re wearing woollen tights Get a grip.

You’re wearing flat shoes We give in.

Pour yourself a vodka, then tot up how many times you said “yes”.

0-2 Well done. Have you read us before or something? Now let’s get you a new man.
3-10 Girlfriend, you’re not taking this well. Let us be frank. You’re turning into one of those monstrous stalking-weeping-psycho-bitches-from-hell. You’re in danger of going from Great to Glenn Close. You’ve got work to do. We want you with a perfect score. And gusset-free.


Look, you feel crap, but you’re not the only girl in the world that’s been through this, you know. To prove it, here is a selection of dumping lines we and our girlfriends have experienced.

— It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not good enough for you. (Incidentally, if you’re ever given either of these lines you should agree with him wholeheartedly.)

— I need some space. (Offer to book him on an astronaut’s course.)

— The timing just isn’t right. (Yes, well, you’d noticed in bed that something was wrong with his timing.)

— I never got over my ex. (You’ll be over him before the cab drops you home.)

— I only agreed to the OK! wedding for the cheque. (Yeah, well you only did it for the frock.)

— I’ve found someone else. I’m gay. (No, you can’t have the frock.)

— I hate it when you do Bruce Forsyth impressions in bed.

Actually, the last one was a line we used on a man, but we included it as an example of how much more original women can be compared to men, who simply churn out the same old excuses.


One of the disadvantages of being single is that there’s nobody to nag you if you’re letting standards slip. We want you to take care of yourself. If any of the following sounds familiar, then we’re sorry, but you’re turning into a sad old spinster and should stop immediately.


Are you mainly dialling for your dinner? We’re not going to start insisting you go all organic or anything, but it is good to cook occasionally, you know. If more than two meals a week are arriving on the back of a motorbike, then we’re going to get really cross with you. This rule applies even if you do fancy the delivery boy.


We’re going to take a guess here. Are your knickers grey? Are they big? Has the elastic gone? Are they older than the delivery boy? If so, take them off. Immediately. (NB: Not if you’re reading this on the Tube.) Remember – vintage goes in a glass, not on your ass.

Buying a cat

Cats are darned useful. But use them carefully.

Do Copy your cat’s walk. See how sexily it sashays around, prettily swishing its tail, and practise doing the same. Strangers stroke your cat and it either coolly submits or rejects them and stalks off. Be that cat. Cats never give a darn. If you want to check out the neighbours, you could pretend your cat has run off. Put on high heels and full make-up, then apply a little Carmex under the eyes so you can cry prettily as you knock on their doors and ask if they have seen your lost cat. (We must point out that Carmex is designed to go on the lips, but everybody in TV and movies uses this technique.) This allows you to have a good look round their home and assess the possibility of single males (wealthy and/or worth revisiting). You can tell any potential candidate where you live and give them your telephone number. There is even an excuse to go back and say you’ve recovered the cat safe and sound.

Don’t Become one of those bores whose dog/cat/budgie is their child substitute, who has its photo on their screen saver and rambles on and on in a baby voice about Piddles, Tiddles or Biggles. We’ve known cases of girls actually holding birthday parties for these creatures and insisting their parents send cards to their “furry grandchildren”.


Well, ignore all previous dating advice you’ve been given. Don’t go down the newspaper/internet ad route. If you really want to go out and trap strangers in public, then do what Tara does: go to The Ivy and ask the waiters if they’d take a note to the table of any guy that takes your fancy. Shock tactics can bring surprising results.


This has been known to work. But you’ll need confidence and, if possible, couture, to carry it off. You may also need a lawyer if you fail to explain what you’re doing on a plane without a ticket. Dress immaculately, go to the airport and then ask for the private-jet area. Should anyone ask what you’re doing wandering around, reply haughtily that you’re waiting for someone. Then find the ladies. Get some Carmex and dot it under your eyes. Sit on a bench looking forlorn, yet f***able. And just wait for some rich man to come along. With a jet. Tara once hitched a lift in Quincy Jones’s Gulf stream using this method. We recommend Heathrow Private Side, Farnborough Airfield and RAF Northolt.


If you’re scared of flying, try this. Decide which pop star/footballer/playboy you fancy the most and work out which hotel they stay in when in town. Start by going to that hotel’s cocktail bar. Go there a lot. Always look amazing. Tip the bar staff heavily so you get info on forthcoming parties, get given a rapturous welcome on arrival and are introduced to people. We know one girl whose very rich husband had just left her for a younger woman, and she just sat in the bar of a chic hotel until her next very rich husband came along. It took about a week. This requires supreme confidence. And a decent wardrobe to avoid being mistaken for a local hooker.


Of course, the problem is that as you turn into a fully fledged wanton sex kitten, you also turn into a bit of a tart. At some point you’ll hear those six little words every woman dreads from her man: “How many lovers have you had?” Personally, we’ve been through quite a few. The best thing to do is remember that some lovers were just not your fault. So there’s no point in counting them. Have a quick flick through our checklist and if the following occurred during any of your love affairs, then there’s no need to declare them at Lover Customs.

He looked like Quasimodo You can disallow all ugly lovers. If you’d be too embarrassed to show a photograph of them, then there’s no need to admit you slept with them.

Holiday romances Again, no need to declare. If none of your work colleagues or friends met them, then, officially, they didn’t exist.

Those whose surnames you don’t recall If the love affair didn’t last long enough for you to start practising your new married signature, then don’t worry about it.

One-night stands It would be entirely human to admit to one of these. But say that it didn’t feel good, so you never did it again.

Those that you didn’t inform your parents about If they never met, then they couldn’t have been that important. So they don’t exist. By now we should be bringing you down to a respectable figure – one or two, maybe. Okay, you shouldn’t push it and wear snow white on your wedding day, you little harlot, but look how many other whites they list on the Dulux paint chart.

If, after all this, you’re still pushing into double figures, then really you should lie through your teeth. Don’t ever go into double figures. If you’re pretending to be a virgin and claim it’s your first time, try to remember to say “ouch”. And then cry afterwards.

The Naughty Girl's Guide to Life by Tara Palmer-Tomkinson and Sharon Marshall (Sphere £12.99). To order for £11.69 (inc P&P), call The Sunday Times Books First, 0870 160 8080 Source: timesonline.co.uk

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