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Saturday, July 20, 2013

So... what should I wear??

Sorry but… this post may be not the most grammatically correct or well organised literary composition, however, if you can forgive my errors I will be eternally grateful, as I must confess I have been imbibing in Satan’s juice for the previous five hours and may be a bit nonsensical. 

As you know, today I was invited to be a part of the Ladies Day marquee at the horse racing carnival event. I was extremely excited to be included in an event for normal, but fashionable savvy women; given my lack of style and popularity.

As I prepared to decorate and adorn myself in order to be acceptable in the racing ‘Fashioneesta Sorority’, it suddenly occurred to me that I had not given my choice of outfit any attention and there was a mere twenty minutes before I was scheduled to be picked up.

I sorted the dress. Easy, Charlie Brown bought one month ago; still with the tags on. Awesome! A shift dress requiring no sucking-in-of-the-guts.

But then, perusing the newspaper while my hair dried, I noticed a picture of some frocked-up ‘Fillies of the Day’.

Their outfits were nothing like what I was planning to wear. I was going to wear stockings and high heeled boots. If I was going to have to wear open-toed shoes then clearly I would have to somehow disguise the blackened and septic toenail on my right foot.

Not only that, but my fractured and flaky fingernails needed some attention if they were to be outed in public.

I quickly scraped the emery board over them and for added shine applied a coat of “Harden Your Nails” thinking I could read the rest of the newspaper as they dried.

As I licked my finger before turning the page I managed to transfer a humungous glob of nail hardener on to my bottom lip and tongue.

My entire mouth area instantaneously burned, went numb and began to quiver uncontrollably.

Panicked, I ran to the bathroom sink, swishing and rubbing my tongue and lips into oblivion with the first thing that came to hand, which was the towel that Scotto probably wipes his bum with.

After things had settled down and my lip was swollen to Angelina Jolie proportions, I texted my son Thaddeus, to enquire as to whether or not he could possibly pick me up at five in the arvo when our outing was complete.

“No, I’m sorry Mum. I’ll be too busy.” was the sad text reply.

Hagar completely ignored my calls and text messages for the rest of the day.

Seriously folks… What is the fricking point in having children; driving them this way and that for twenty years, waiting for hours at soccer and basketball games, torturing yourself through one hundred hours of driving lessons, picking them up at midnight after cast parties and end of school festivities and buying them cars!!! if the b#stards can’t be arsed to pick you up at five o’clock on a frickin Saturday afternoon?

My advice. Don’t have kids!

I did warn you… I’m emotional. But! Stay tuned for all the photographic high-jinks in tomorrow’s post, revealing the Dolly Birds and their frolicsome antics at Ladies’ Day at the races!