I went party frock shopping yesterday. I am a fan of a frock. I am short, blessed in the boob department and have an arse you could serve tea from. Trousers can make me look lumpy. Not the type of lady lumps that you want, more overstuffed and well-loved sofa. A good dress makes me feel unstoppable.
For parties, I want to be comfortable so I can eat, drink and dance. I don’t want to be itchy, hot or hoiking material round. I want the shape to be simple. No frills that I’ll trail into soup. No fringing that I’ll trap in a taxi door. No sheer patches that I can ladder. Although I desire comfortable and simplicity I do not want to look like I’ve gone out in my nightie. It needs to be special. It needs to be sparkly. I am not a shrinking violet and a laugh in the face of subtle. Jennifer Aniston’s red carpet look is beautiful but not for me. I am more Bette Midler on Hulaween.
I tried a fabulous dark purple dress on from Monsoon. Velvet, sequins, sleeves, perfect!
As I wiggled it on and I looked at myself in the mirror I thought “it’s not supposed to look like this”. I left the changing room after I had a little cry and left the dress there.
What I meant was “I am not supposed to look like this”. I will never look like the woman modelling the dress. First, there’s at least a 9-inch height difference. Then, there’s the dress size difference and the fact that she’s a model. Also, there’s a fact that it’s never going to be advertised as worn by a 40-year-old woman who has eaten a pie or two, accessorising it with Adidas Gazelles and a faux fur jacket, who’s choking on her G&T because she’s laughing so hard.
I went home and ordered the dress. So if you are in Liverpool for the festive season and you see a woman dressed as a purple glitter ball with an arse that won’t quit who is laughing so much she’s hiccuping, come and say hi. It will be me, I’ll look awesome and I know you will too.