Wednesday, 2 May 2012

Dry bread and gruel

The saga continues...

After the long and, ultimately, indecisive decisions earlier I trotted off down Portobello Road to get the floral tiaras. If nothing else we would have two parts of the not-really-a-costume-but-what-do-you-expect-from-us. Astonishingly, I actually managed to do this without mishap, this in itself being a minor miracle and, happily, wandered back to the dungeon at my client's office. When I say at, I mean their office is actually something of a dungeon. Well it's underground. And I can't get a 3G signal, so that's *obviously* the 21st century equivalent of torture. The rack I should think is a good analogy, especially as I stretch to send a text to my flatmate.

Thank goodness for MSN is all I can say. Crikey, I thought I would never say that.

I digress. On the way back to said dungeon I had a picture message... Ooh. Pretty. My flatmate had wandered in to a store, found the perfect dress, in her size, with a fabulous colour. And it was less than £20. I can go off some people. This inevitably lead to the discussion of shoes, which could have eaten away at the whole afternoon, but we're dedicated professionals and wouldn't be distracted by such frippery. Honest. Well maybe a little bit.

Time moved on. A lot.

I was just finishing the pasta bake when she announced she was close, which was good as it meant we could eat and compare notes. Or just eat. After dinner, as sure as night follows day, there was the inevitable trying on session. After a few minutes of clearing stuff away I was getting a little concerned so went upstairs to see what she was up to, and found her, by the mirror, just trying shoes... the film "Who framed Roger Rabbit", Jessica Rabbit said something like "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way", well, I now know who the model was. This should be entertaining. We hummed and harred for a bit, and in the end I gave in and started trying things to. I had to some time. But really, straight after pasta was not the best of times. First was the red. Well, more of an orangey red it turned out when compared to the more of a burgundy red of her dress. And showed much less. Much less to the point where:

Her: "You're not showing enough boob"
Me: "That's good, surely"
Her: "But you always show lots"
Me: "No I don't" *pouts* "I didn't last week"
Her: *Raised eyebrow*

So I changed in to something that I knew would fit. And was lovely. And, at a push, could be fairy ish. Oh, and showed chest.

Her: Too nice
Me: Pfft.

Now this isn't good, as I'm trying to loose weight I've been, on purpose, not buying clothes, so my range is limited... And then I remembered, a dress I'd not worn in ages, but, at a push I could squeeze in to. Yay! Err, except that I was trying this on next to the Jessica Rabbit model. This was not going to go well.

And it didn't.

Me: Too tight
Her: Mmm.

This was getting humiliating. But it got worse... She asked the size, 14 if you must know, and I duly handed it over for the inevitable try on... Oh great. I mean strike me down with lightning *please*. Stunning, again.

It was at this point I started my Christmas card list. I careful wrote my flatmate's name at the top. And then crossed it out. Several times. In green.

Back in reality I dived in to my wardrobe and pulled out... Something in black. Which showed cleavage. And I knew worked as I'd worn it recently. And. Well. It did work. Besides, I was actually planning on wearing the red dress tomorrow night at the Cabaret place.

Now it was during this that my flatmate realised that maybe I wasn't the only one that had, maybe, put on a pound or two extra... So she reached in to her wardrobe and pulled out what can only be described as a lethal weapon in the frock stakes. Not safe to be seen in public. And on it went...

...or didn't, initially. The zip was being tricky so we ended with my holding the back together to see whether it felt right (it did, hate her so much) and looked right (ditto, ditto). But the giggles set in. She looked, for all the world, like a ventriloquists dummy and we couldn't quite stop laughing at the thought of persuading people we were actually an act. Not that she managed to say gottle of geer. But she would have been good at answering back.

Finally though, once we got some sense of normality (and I went through another black dress and a sequinned plan D) she tried on one and... It. Didn't. Fit. That side zip wasn't going anywhere any time soon. So it wasn't just me. Thank goodness for that.

The thing is, this was a hollow relief. There is no doubt she looks utterly stunning and I look like her fat, frumpy mate by comparison. The one you take with you so you look better. But we did at least have an awful lot of giggles. Which is definitely a good thing. And beats the tears that there would have been if we'd waited until Friday evening. Just before we left.

But it does mean that, long term, things around here may need to change. So it will be a diet. Of dry bread and gruel.

But with no gruel...

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