What is it about fancy dress parties that turns my stomach?
Right now the people around me in the office are chatting about their garb for the Christmas party on Friday. Some wise social planner decided it should be fancy dress, and not just any old fancy dress - it's
the 1920s.
I flirted with the idea of going to the party for oh, about a minute.
I've only worked here two months and haven't met everyone in the building and I really should go along to mix and mingle. But in that minute I googled the clothing style of the era and the first word I encountered was "silhouette". I think I may have had a silhouette once, but I am pretty sure I was seven years old at the time. So that was it really. I'm not going. I don't do dress ups, I don't know why. They just seem like such a big hassle. Find ill-fitting clothes worn by someone else (who may or may not have had a disease or at the very least BO), pay money to hire those clothes, try not to rip or vomit on them, and then try to remember to get them back on time.
Can't we just dress up nicely in our own clothes for once? I like doing that - it gives me an excuse to buy myself something. Don't take that away from me!
I made this plea to my mother a few months ago when she was "planning Christmas" for our family. We received an email from her with a lovely invitation she'd spent a lot of time over, about the theme for this year. It involves hats and some kind of musical act to be performed. This effectively gives me licence to drink to excess, because I also don't do musical performances.
I reminded my mother that the only instrument she had ever allowed me to learn was the bagpipes, and as I had sucked, rather than blown, at that, she may not get much out of me on Christmas Day.
She smiled and said, 'just try to have a nice day, dear'. I will. I'll be the merry one in the corner dressed in nice clothes. My own.
