Beverly Hills Babes, Part 2…yay, baby.

Friday, my daughter had a half day at work so we planned an afternoon rendezvous. I put the top down, turned up the tunes and drove slowly towards Bev Hills.

Not that I would ever drive at a lethargic pace, willingly. There was a ridiculous amount of traffic and it took 30 minutes to get to Sepulveda Blvd. from the beach.

Every road in Santa Monica is under construction because the state is building an above ground transit system to get from downtown LA to the beach.

Anyway, after dealing with zigging and zagging, grown ups fearful of orange cones and reduced lanes, I arrived in Century City to whisk my TV agent offspring off to a Friday afternoon rave in Bev Hills.

We started our search and seizure at Neiman’s. We boldly elbowed our way through the shoe department. The scent of a woman was pervasive, especially amongst the Valentino’s, Manolo’s and Louboutin’s. Then we took in the beauty and splendor of the Chanel and Balenciaga bags.

We were breathless and needed nourishment because we were hypoglycemic from the mental orgasm we were experiencing.

For the very first time, we dined at Mariposa, Neiman Marcus’ formal restaurant. I have to be honest. I did not know that it existed. Firstly, it is in the cellar of Neiman’s and most importantly, I did not think food was ever allowed to cross collagen enhanced lips in this store.

After all, you have to suppress appetites to fit into a Petite 00. Since we have Eastern bloc genes, we ate and relished our lunch.

The restaurant has the audacity to kick off the meal with a seductive homemade popover and hot, flavorful chicken broth with a flaky, freshly baked cheese straw.

These treats were surprising since the Mariposa menu features a Go Figure section (check out the body image) for the patrons who barely consume. I guess this saves the restaurant from having the customers purge in public.

I signaled for the handsome waiter (actor in waiting, of course) to immediately take away the offending popover…the thrill of victory for not succumbing, but the agony of not being able to enjoy the bakery bliss.

Our tasty lunch featured a shared lobster cobb salad ($34) and hamburger ($17) without the bread, fries merely sampled for reviewing purposes (excellent).

A stunning blond all in white, including her blonde mane wrapped in a turban, accessorized by a baby boy swaddled in the same virginal color, was our tablemate. I recognized her as Marilyn in, The Good Wife, the insanely entertaining in-house ethics counsel to Peter Florrick.

Melissa George chatted as she tended to her baby. She was absolutely charming.

We then glided through Saks and amused ourselves with the designer sunglasses as well as a repeat of the shoe and bag reconnaissance.

In Saks, I was horrified to find myself stuck to the marble floor. A vile Beverly Hills Housewife had dropped gum and my new Louboutin’s kept me riveted in an obvious spot between Prada and Mui Mui.

I was on my knees attempting to scrap the gum off my red soles. I thought the only reason I would ever be down on all fours in Saks 5th Avenue was if I was trying to earn a complimentary Chanel jumbo bag.

I got unstuck and dodged for Barney’s. I had an Alzheimer moment, until I realized that they had re-designed the main floor. The shoes were where the bags used to be and vice versa.

I ran into the shoe maven who convinced me I had to have my Louboutin sandals which I was presently sporting. I asked him if he could aid and assist with gum removal, and he scurried off to unknown parts. So much for full service.

It was almost time for our mani pedi so we headed out. We walked into a crowded salon and the air was being sucked out of the place by two basketball giants…Kris Humphries and Peter Cornell, who never made it to the NBA. Even at 6’11” and I am guessing size 18 shoe, he was never the real deal.

Kim Kardashian’s second ex-husband of a minute was getting a pedicure and the dudes engaged in a running commentary about Instagram chicks…stimulating. We weren’t eavesdropping, they were just broadcasting.

We turned our hands and soles over to Alex, the fastest manicurist in the continental U.S. His salon, 7Q is lovely and provides very good technicians at extremely reasonable Bev Hills prices.

Feeling renewed, we headed back to the heart of Bev Hills and settled into Happy Hour at Bouchon. We were surrounded by D list actors and wealthy Persians with poorly behaved children.

We toasted the weekend with Happy Hour red wine ($5), truffled popcorn ($4.50) and fresh oysters ($2 each). We eventually sashayed out of 90210, headed to the 90401.

Sadly, we did not engage in retail purchases because temptation was not strong enough for full frontal rationalization, but we had a blast.

Buh Bye Bev Hills…until we invade again.

Check out Bev Hills Babes, Part 1 at: https://ifthedevilhadmenopause.com/beverly-hills-babes/