Comment Porter Les Accessoires Année 90 Aujourd'Hui ?

On our wedding day, my bride insists on wearing an old, beat-up watch with the million-dollar wedding dress I buy her. I call off the wedding on the spot. She looks at me in shock. "You called off the wedding just because of a watch?" I take out the divorce agreement and tell her to sign. "Yes. Because of that watch." Everyone calls me crazy. They cannot believe I would end a ten-year relationship over something so worthless and file for divorce in front of everyone. Dad walks up and slaps me across the face. "Get on your knees, you disgrace." My mother-in-law shrieks that I have ruined her daughter's future by returning her like damaged goods. I look at the watch on her wrist, which is stopped at 3:07, and I smile. Then, I phone my assistant. "It's time. Release everything. I want a divorce."

If you are going to be BAD, then you have to do it the BAD way... It's pretty simple: 1) Don't get caught 2) Always have a Plan B 3) If all else fails... Run...Run for your life! Everyone has a bad side. Some try to deny it's existence, some hide it and others well...they rule the world with it. In the book of being BAD, there are ninety-nine formulas for world domination... Number one: You aren't BAD until you can walk around the school dressed in all pink and have everyone afraid to approach you. Number two: You aren't BAD until you can break into a certain bad boys house and well... do the wrong kinds of stuff. Number three: You aren't bad until quite frankly, you have declared vengeance against the bad boy. ~*~ "I heard you like bad boys," Blade says with a vivid smirk on his face. I glared up at him, without responding clenching my fists fighting the urge to punch him in the face. "So...?" He says after a couple of seconds of silence. "So what?" "So what do you think...Tinker Bell?" He says emphasizing on the stupid name. His face moved closer to mine and I stared back into his green eyes, watching the fire inside ignite. I smirked, "Then find me one." Blade grins at my witty retort and shrugs it off. "I look at you and I see cotton candy, but then you open your mouth... and suddenly you turn into liquorice," he scoffs. "Welcome to the game bitch, your move, now let's play."

My girlfriend and I were reborn, returning to the cramped basement apartment we rented right after graduation. We silently walked out the door together, neither of us mentioning staying together. She went abroad with her childhood sweetheart to further her studies while I stayed behind, grinding away at my company. Seven years later, she became a rising young designer with a bright future and a happy family. I was still grinding away at the same company. When we met again, she clung to her childhood sweetheart's arm, looking down at my slightly disheveled state with a mocking smile. "Long time no see. How did you end up looking like a beggar?" I ignored her. However, later, when the powerful, world-renowned CEO of a top design firm clung to my arm, acting sweetly, her face twisted with panic. "Alex Prescott! How can you be so close with another woman?!"

My five-year marriage with Alexander was like a couture gown, ripped to shreds. "I want Victoria to show your collection for the New York Fashion Week spring preview." My husband Alexander's voice cut through the sketch I was working on. I stopped drawing. I must have heard him wrong. "What did you say?" "Victoria is new. She needs a platform. Your new spring collection is the perfect springboard for her." "You're a showstopper every year. What's the harm in giving her one shot?" he asked, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Besides, the brand needs new blood." I stared at the man I'd spent five years with. Suddenly, his face looked sharp, unfamiliar. "Do you have any idea how many nights I've stayed up working on this collection? And you want to give it to some new assistant?" "Evelyn, don't be so petty. It's just a preview." His expression turned cold. "I've already decided." I clenched my fists, a thousand emotions churning inside me. Fine. If you're going to treat me like this, don't blame me for leaving you.

My husband dotes on me. He's always saying I'm the one he cherishes most in this life. Everyone else envies me too, saying I married well—pampered like a princess. It all started when I mentioned, offhand, that tailored cuts flatter my figure. From that moment on, he kept it in mind every day, going out of his way to gather all kinds of designer womenswear for me. In the walk-in closet at home, there's always a wardrobe filled exclusively with my new clothes—each piece haute couture, with exquisite fabrics and impeccable craftsmanship. On New Year's Eve in our third year of marriage, the house was lively, packed with relatives chatting and laughing. With a smile, my husband handed me a gift box. "Go on, open your New Year's present." The frustration and resentment I'd been bottling up for so long exploded in an instant. I shoved the box to the floor. "It's the New Year—can you just stop for once?" The moment the words left my mouth, everyone fell silent. The relatives' expressions shifted; one after another, they began to scold me for being ungrateful, for not knowing how lucky I was. My husband looked at me, eyes full of shock and hurt. "I just bought you some pretty clothes. Why are you angry?" Amid their pointing fingers and his wounded questioning, I rushed into the walk-in closet like I'd lost my mind, dragging out those designer clothes and throwing them all over the floor. Everyone stared at me, stunned. No one said another word.

During a kindergarten parent-teacher conference, a rich wife accuses me of stealing her bag. I'm baffled. I bought the bag myself abroad, and it even has my name etched on it. However, when I scrutinize the bag, I discover that my name is missing. I call my husband, and he impatiently says, "I gave your bag to Jen. She's fresh out of college and needs an expensive bag to make herself look good. Even Finn said the bag is too young for you—it suits Jen more. You're too old for these things. You should be glad to even have a fake one." I bark out an exasperated laugh. I can go without having a husband, but the bag has to be returned to me.