Vanity Fair

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 72, Issue 233, 1 October 1929, Page 2

Vanity Fair

. "Chronicle" Office, Wanganui, October 1, 1929. It started off like this: Margot’s friend, as nice a girl as you could possibly meet, happened to be visiting a not far distant New Zealand city, and. whilst strolling down the main thoroughfare, noticed a dark flight of stairs with a device of two pi n k roses twined above the open glass door, and beneath the roses, written in gold, she beheld the words. Ye American Beauty Shoppe." Two things impelled the girl to go in: first, she knew of a very deserving man who sold dictionaries, so she thought that perhaps the people upstair 3 might like to k n <>w how shop is really spelt. Second, she wanted io know where America came in, somebody or other having said in print only a few days ago that the English complexion is tho finest in the world, and that after England, New Zealand might be permitted to run second. “Well,” said the lady of the beauty parlour, defensively, when spoken to in regard io her shop's sobriquet, "Say what you like, the Americans are good at figures. K ery good. And so are we. ' "Not really?” asked Margot’s friend, who, though a nice, homely sort of girl, was just beginning to verge on that twelve stone look"I’ll say so," said the lady, briefly, "Come and see our scientific apparatus. Why, last week, we had a testimonial letter from an old client: Used to be one of those big business men—all cigar and circumference, don't you know. Well, we reduced him. And in his letter he said that if he happens to be kept late at the office, these nights, he can get through bis own keyhole without waking his wife. Most people Would look upon that as a gift." "I don’t altogether believe your story,” said Margot’s friend, “But all the same. I'll try a little treatment, just to show how wrong you are. What’s that thing like a rubber sea-serpent, with electric batteries attached?” “You try it," said the lady. And Margot's friend did. In addition, she tried the sort of bath you see in the lowest type of comedy, where gentlemen are made to sit in steam cabinets, and the attendant forgets all about them, and when eventually somebody remembers them, they have simply melted away; so their wives say "Thank goodness,” and give the porter a princely tip. And the worst of the whole thing Was, Margot’s friend informs her, that in cupboards all over the place were funny little jars and pots and bottles, with pictures of what you looked like before and after you used them. There was one picture, for instance, where you were spotted all over, like a giraffe, but less picturesque. Then you used a pinky sort of cream, and emerged without a freckle to your name. The pots and bottles seemed to hypnotise her. Every now and again she Would say to the attendant, “That one looks rather interesting, doesn’t it?” And the attendant Would say, “Yes, I’ll wrap it up. Madam, will you have it delivered?” And by the time the morning Was all over, Margot's friend suid, she found she had spent £5/7/6 on beauty, and it hasn't brought in a single proposal yet. "But you really do look a little slimmer,” Mar got said encouragingly. The lass groaned. “I lost three pounds," she confessed, “but the whole thing gave me such an appetite that I went out and ordered a beefsteak- And by the time I’d finished, I found I’d put on all but five ounces again.” Which was very sad. Sympathetically, MARGOT.