I went to a black tie – which is completely unlike me. The actual event was pleasant, but the run-up nearly killed me. After much anxiety about a dress, and fitting on nearly 20, I eventually gave up and went to some ridiculously over-priced chain-store dress place. They service brides, bridesmaids etc. So after much driving and faffing about in malls – I gave up and made the trip there. I had fit on about eight dresses that invariably didn’t work for a variety of reasons. Eventually I found a dress I like – only it was a size too small, and they didn’t have my size. So, some incredibly patient sales lady (you deserved your commission Jane) squeezed me into the frock. Much groaning, bending and flexing got me in. I could literally smell the sweat of the cheap (probably child) labourers who sewed the gown together. It was the best work-out of the week.
Only clincher is that you have to step onto the shop floor to view the dress, seriously. There is no mirror IN the fitting room. Barely able to breathe, I step out for like .5 of a second (only long enough to see where the dress failed me) and dashed back, exhausted, in pain and longing for release from dress-buying-related stress – and painfully gasping for air. I paid the obscene amount of cash for this barely-fitting abomination, but assuaged my fears by reasoning it was the only dress I could look at without wanting to become violently ill. Jane promised me the great Alerter of Dresses could take it out a little and somehow magically get it to stick.
That was Thursday, Saturday (the day of the event) I limped over to the store – fairly crestfallen. It occurred to me that I had spent all the money I had on this dress, and there was a fairly strong possibility it still wouldn’t fit. I was terrified. After waiting around for the dress to be collected with horror images of a lost, burnt, vandalised or even worse, completely unaltered, dress - it appeared as if by magic (magick?). Jane squeezed me into it with more ease than the first time, but it still clinched like a vice grip around the old lungs.
‘If I pass out, cut the frock off’ – I warned, desperately.
It went okay, the frock didn’t tear apart: it wore in very well and sat great. I also didn't pass out from oxygen deprivation, which everyone will agree is always a plus. But this is about as much as I want to know of frocks for the rest of my life. I also learnt more ‘lady-things’ in a few hours than I have in my entire life. Yes… truffle is a colour, not only a fungal food.
At the actual event I managed to clear a table with a reference to a lewd song I had heard… wonders never cease – I still possess the ability to completely alienate people with little to no effort.
Thank you Oscar Vitoni, for designing my lovely store-bought frock, and as always, thank you Jane. And bugger you Kyle, for asking me to attend in the first place.
PS: I love the word 'frock' it captures exactly how I feel about evening gowns.
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