Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Dotty Dress Blues [the two part harmony]

Dotty Dress Blues [the two part harmony]


My room currently looks like a small nuclear explosion has occurred within it. Which certainly isn't a pretty sight. Rather than deal with the fallout from the nuclear explosion, however, I instead used my precious non-typing hours to go to the supermarket. And I hate the supermarket. Which probably speaks volumes about how little I want to do anything that comes even remotely close to tidying up the nuclear explosion when I'd rather go into the wilds of Oxford and chance losing a shin to one of the over-seventy-trolley dash brigade. As it was the supermarket was relatively painless. Or at least the experience didn't mean that I lost a limb or came out with the pressing urge to jab something sharp into my eye. I did, however, spend rather too long in the this-really-isn't-very-good-for-you-despite-what-we-claim-on-the-packaging aisle. Should anyone be interested the biscuit supplier to the Oxford Sainsbury's has suffered flooding and hence there is currently a shortage of rich-tea buscuits on the shelf. But Sainsbury's apologises for any inconvenience caused. Obviously the fact that one brand of rich-tea biscuits is missing from the shelves of Sainsbury's is enough to cause major inconvenience to the biscuit dunkers of Oxford. If Mr Sainsbury is in the mood for offering apologies for inconvenience caused then I would rather like a written apology for him having built a very expensive 'local Sainsbury's' near to me, causing me the inconvenience of having to walk past it on my way to the other side of central Oxford in order to go to the still-over-priced-but-marginally-less-so version. And indeed I'd like an apology for the fact that there hasn't been any of the value bread in the store for the last fortnight. I'm paying double what I normally do. Now that's inconvenience.

When I was out I did something naughty. I bought a pair of shoes. If I'm going to mount my defence here I will say that they were in the sale and are lovely and brown and pointy*. Indeed had I not bought them they'd have stayed, folornly, in the middle of the shop longing to come and join my ten other pairs of slip on shoes. And I'd have pined and I'd have been walking round accompanied by violins for the next week. So it was in everyone's best interests that I bought the shoes. Plus I need to save the violins for the dress that I saw in Mr Next's Clearance Store. I am rather obsessed with dresses, mainly because they are such a force of terror in my life. There is a general rule of thumb which says that you shouldn't wear a dress that slips over your head and doesn't have any kind of fastening device [such as zips, clasps, saftey pins or extra-strength superglue] unless your body is in proportion. It doesn't matter whether you are 7 stone or 16, you simply have to be in proportion. And I, rather emphatically, am not. Even my feet cannot seem to co-ordinate their sizing, what with one being an entire half size bigger than the other. Given this there is little chance that my waist, thighs, breasts and back could come to some sort of an agreement as to the rough sizing of the person they occupy. Instead they co-exist rather unharmoniously, bickering amongst themselves as to what dress size I should be.

In the January sales, I chanced upon, in the realms of another Mr Next store, what was possibly the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. Utter perfection radiated from every milimetre, it literally glowed in the knowledge of just how wonderful it was. And I ran to the changing room, thinking that this dress, this miracle life giving dress, would be the one to change everything. This would be the dress that would destroy the rule of thumb. When I put it on, however, it became clear that whilst it was a magical dress, it was fighting something of a battle with the top half of my body. Indeed it resembled something of a potato sack until it reached my waist, where from here downwards it once again was the dress of utter wonderment. Sadly, heart over-flowing with the knowledge that the dress of wonder, could never be mine, I returned it to its place in the store. Where it was undoubtedly bought my someone who is bigger than me but who is blessed by a body that has managed to co-ordinate itself. I still have sleepless nights about that dress.

Today's dress was not quite the level of the dress of wonder, but it was still pretty high up the scale. And, what made it succeed where the the dress of wonder had failed, was that it had a very fancy tie style thing at its waist. Now wrap style dresses I can do. But by this point I'd already bought the shoes, and I wasn't in possession of the Next gift vouchers I've been trying to use for last year [I suspect they may be one of the casulties of the nuclear explosion] and I had to leave it, knowing in my heart how nice it would look with my cowboy boots**. I didn't even try it on, knowing that the moment that I did I would succumb to its power. Indeed I feel I still might.

If there is a lesson amongst all of this it is clearly that when faced with nuclear fallout, tidy up, and do not go and procrastinate in stores owned by Mr Next.

In other news, I've - per Reina's request - fixed the comments on here. So now you can leave me them. You know you want to. C'mon, I've an oddly shaped body, I need the light relief.

NB: This is the second version of this post. The first one which was even wittier, was forever lost to cyberspace. We can but mourn its passing.

*The only other acceptable alternative being that they are green and pointy.

**Which is the way that all items of clothing are now judged.

3 comments:

Cat said...

I feel your pain. x

Nik said...

Is it wrong to suggest that chocolate may help? xx

Corinne said...

I'm involved in an intensive therapy session consisting of Kit Kats and Chocolate Chip Cookies being inhaled at ridiculous speeds.

At the very least it makes it harder to hear the violins with all the crunching.