Oh dear. Oh very dear oh dear me! There it is, that shopaholic I wish I wish feeling of mouth drooling inaccessibility. It's always unexpected, and its usually red. The dress caught my eye from across the corridor of the mall, one of the lights bounced a dozen times from the sequins and drew me over, past the window and through the door. Heavy long sheets of black net, a tight waist and flared skirt, elegance and class wrapped together with a satin band. Red glittering shimmering festive sequins spilled down the fabric, every movement made the dress appear as if it had been weaved with pixie dust, a subtle hint of Christmas. No cleavage, no back display and too long to make the most of legs, and yet...this dress had class. This piece suggested that the wearer needed more than a decent figure, with nothing out in the open one needed confidence in their personality, their way of speaking, this was a dress for the woman of substance, the one who didn't need a flash of thigh or a bulge of breasts to feel sexy. This dress was beyond sexy, it was a little over elegant, is was classy Christmas and it was an unreachable, unkind £75.00. That's a figure to turn a girls stomach when your twirling a dress like that around. A heavy hand put that dress back.