Love, Life and Fancy Dress

What a hoot, a night on the tiles!

Having heard about, been invited to, reminded of, THE fancy dress party of the decade, last night heralded the dawning of Zeus and Aphrodite.  Patrick and Catherine looked resplendent in their finery, although I wondered how long Patrick would keep his flimsy one shoulder gown on, and the body glitter he was wearing transferred well onto my pussy... cat clothing, making sure that I glowed in the dark at every dimming of the lights.  Catherine shares the same birth date as my daughter and used this to celebrate both birthday and engagement.  Gold nails, jewels, eyes and body glitter and fabulous naturally blond hair piled to perfection framed a set of perfectly manicured eyebrows.

I have had at least four months to prepare for the occasion yet as usual I operate best to deadlines, so after a four o'clock dash to the fancy dress shop in Poole High Street for finishing touches (the alternative fancy dress shop not the usual trick box) I left with wig, ears, tail, mask and a pair of tights!  The shop is run by two very helpful guys but has always been a bit of an oddity as one side of the shop is model trains, boats and planes and the other side of the shop is accessed through an internal archway which makes you feel as though you are entering the dark side...  I dashed back home finished getting ready and after nearly knocking myself out, Lazered myself into my costume.  Six inch patent heels helped make my shape a little easier on the eye and once the diamond necklace, earrings and two brooches were applied, on went the gloves and I looked like the full set, even if I didn't look the full ticket.  

Anyone who knows and understands costumes, yes you do admit it and enjoy it, the mask had to be in place before the wig and the ears could go on.  No problem, except I got in the car, realised I needed petrol and found the mask obliterated most, if not all of my peripheral vision. So there I was driving down the motorway, or the M3 to be precise, attracting more than a few strange looks.  One flashy car went zooming on, only to fall back and take a second look.  I gave him my best scratchy gesture and cat spat at him; needless to say he legged it laughing, not the reaction I was after.  

More to follow...

Now where was I? 

Ah yes... half way up the motorway entertaining bored passengers.  I was trying to decide if I looked like a Dominatrix, Zorro or the Lone Ranger and as the tension was growing in my shoulders, the wig started to take on a life of its own.  Trust me, one hair grip is totally insufficient to keep half a pound of glam rock fibres close to your noddle, but truth is I forgot about securing the wig and since I trimmed my own locks some ten years ago, french bobby pins are consigned to the back of a set of dusty drawers.

When I eventually arrived at the Old Thatched House, my ears and mask were set at a new jaunty angle, help was at hand in the form of Darth Vader who I hadn't seen for some time; what I should have said was 'Come here big boy and lend me your light sabre' instead I giggled like a pathetic school girl on prom night whose bra strap had bust.  As the evening wore on my mask rose higher and higher where it eventually stayed on my forehead until I returned home. I looked like a politician with a comb over.

Next time I am invited to a fancy dress party, if indeed there is a next time, I will select something more befitting a woman who has turned the dark side of 50, probably from the Damart catalogue or Anne Summers plus range, or I could economise, make a few adjustments and go as a Dominatrix...  Nah....  Maybe I'll be Dorothy, I have it on good authority from the two men in the fancy dress shop, that men like a girl in pigtails and red shoes...