Well, it’s that time of year again – the ‘hunt down a couple of dresses for the party season’ time of year. Or as I like to call it – the ‘cross my fingers and hope I find something that doesn’t make me look like mutton dressed as lamb, has an air of Catherine Zeta Jones about it (as opposed to an air of desperation), and doesn’t cost the earth’ time of year.
Day 1: Scooped up 14 dresses and dragged them into the changing room. By number two I was downhearted, by number six I was pissed off, by number 10 I was depressed and by number 14 I wanted to strangle the assistant who asked through the cubicle door “Is everything alright Madam?”
Day 2: Tried on two more. One turned out to be a culotte jumpsuit rather than a dress. I only discovered this after trying to get into it for three minutes – unable to understand why it wouldn’t open up to let me in. It was also covered in cheap gold sparkle, which I’m still prising out of my hair, and picking out of my teeth. The other dress turned out to be a long top, which would explain my horror at finding splits that went all the way up to my armpits. Not even I would wear that with my usual thick tights and boots combo. I do have limits – just.
Day 3: Tried on a jumpsuit and a black, criss-cross style dress.
The dress made me look like a menopausal 16 year old trying to burst out of a string bag. I’m not even prepared to discuss the jumpsuit…
Day 4: Picked out 10 dresses. While trying them on suddenly realised that my armpits (yes, my actual armpits!) have become very flabby – they’ve obviously decided to come out in sympathy with my bingo wings. Never noticed them being that bad before, but today they were out and proud. Maybe the harsh, fluorescent strip light didn’t help, but in every sleeveless dress I tried on they were making themselves known – not in a jovial, ‘pleased to meet you’ kind of way, but in a ‘you’re 50 and that dress is far too young for you’ kind of way. Left the shop in mourning for my taut, flab-free armpits. Came home, resorted to internet and ordered two identical long-sleeved dresses: one black, one red.
Day 5: Dresses arrived. Opened parcel with trepidation. Took them out. Tried red one on first. Turned to mirror and…wow… it fitted. Not only did it fit, it looked great. Added tights, shoes and jewellery then rushed downstairs to show husband. Husband approved. Rushed back upstairs to try on the black one (I know it’s the same dress, but you understand ladies…) Looked great. Rushed back downstairs – husband approved.
So, two dresses I’m thrilled with: length just above the knee (providing an air of sexiness), nicely shaped (successfully hiding all my lumps and bumps), tastefully lacy and long-sleeved (keeping my flabby armpits and bingo wings well and truly under wraps).
“On the first day of Christmas the dress shop gave to me: a whole load of mi-ser-eee.
On the second day of Christmas the dress shop gave to me: cheap, sparkly gold and a whole load of mi-ser-ree.
On the third day of Christmas the dress shop gave to me: a sad, string bag; cheap, sparkly gold and a whole load of mi-ser-ree.
On the fourth day of Christmas the dress shop gave to me: fat, flabby arms; a sad, string bag; cheap, sparkly gold and a whole load of mi-ser-ree.
On the fifth day of Christmas the dress shop gave to me …………Fab. Happy. Me!”
Merry Christmas and good luck in your party outfit hunt 🙂