Operation Mini-Skirt Status: -39 lbs.
Mood: You know, quite good, actually.
They say that the quarter century mark is really nothing at all, that it's not a real milestone, that it shouldn't really bother anyone. Of course, the only ones that say that are under 24. The rest of us know the truth. The rest of us understand the clutch of panic that greets us on the morning it happens. The rest of us know that being firmly in your mid-twenties is like standing naked in the middle of your street. It leaves nothing to the imagination. You know, you go from 21 to 22, and sure, it's another year, but you're still young! Doesn't matter how many years you have when you're under 25, 'cause you're still young! Now though... Yeah, the rest of us know what it's about. And now Sleyefox does, too.
Happy Birthday, Sleyefox! You're not over the hill yet, but the view sure is different from up here, isn't it?
(Hee hee hee)
That's called payback, my friends. Not for anything in particular, but just for the fact that I was born first! (What can I tell you? Age makes me bitter.)
* * *
So, I've got this Christmas party coming up. I won't give them much, but I will give them this. My company knows how to throw a party. It's always in a lovely and interesting spot, it's always formal, the cuisine tends to satisfy my trained-by-restaurateur-father palate, and most importantly, there is always dancing. And I ask you, what's a party without a shimmy and a shake? So, anyway, a couple of years ago, I brought a date. Last year, I brought no date. I had vast amounts of fun on both occasions. I won't say I'm the most social of butterflies, but I do have the ability to mingle properly. Oh hell. Why lie? I can work a party like nobody's business! So, what to do, what to do...
I got to work early this morning, and on a bit of a whim (there was some thought put in, after all, but not much...) I rang up Vanilla. He's got manners, he's in the same industry, he's lovely to look at, and he can dance. Why not? I asked myself.
So now I've got a date for the Christmas party. But that wasn't the problem. This is the problem. And it's a big one.
I have no idea in heaven or hell what I'm going to wear! Every possible dress in my closet resembles the tent they put over New Hampshire when it rains. I can't buy a new one, because... well, because... oh, ok, I'm cheap. I refuse to spend good money on a dress that will be too big on me in two months. Especially when I have two weddings to go to next year, and any dress bought now would have to suffice for one of them.
And it's a week and a half away. That's not long from now. I have a week and a half to procure a dress that not only shows off my new girlish figure, but also makes people take one look and mutter, "Day-am!" (TM Weetabix) under their breath.
God... this puts me back to high school. The prom. I had a fabulous dress, but no date. I looked like a 40 year old woman in it of course, as my arse looks better now then it ever has, but still, it was a fabulous dress. All dressed up and no place to go. And now? The opposite is true. So what have I learned from all this? The passage of time does not ease your conundrums. It only switches their order.
Ah well. So be it. If these are the problems that dog me, I'm better off than most. (Age also makes me philosophical.)
Have a good day, all. Have a piece of cake for Sleyefox. And for me, because you know the rule. That's right, say it with me.
Food is love.
Off you go, now.
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