Hair… update!

I’m going to pay the hairdresser to do my hair for Friday.

With the best will in the world, I’m not going to be able to get it looking like how I want it and that will turn me into a mega bitch.  Which isn’t fun. 

I’ll pay the £25.

Will I embarrass myself?

Probably.

Well, it’s more likely to be a yes.

Friday sees the long-awaited arrival of the works christmas party and I can’t wait.

I compiled a list yesterday of all the items I need to make sure I bring with me to work so I can make an attempt at looking über fabulous:

(The main event) The Black Dress – check

Semi high, slinky, back sandals -  check

Pull-me-in-push-me-up underwear – check

Make -up (everything I own, just in case) – check

Any and all hair paraphernalia – check

Wine – check

Now, I have two options where my hair is concerned: I can either attempt to do it myself or I can keep my hairdressers appointment and have them do it for a no doubt sizeable fee.

Now, I already know that if I do my hair myself, I will royally screw it up because it wont look anything like the Oscar winning ‘do’ that I’ve conjured up in my head.  In fact, it’ll go flat, lose the style and it’ll be all I look at in every photo that gets taken.  I’ll wish I wore a hat.  Or wish I wasn’t so bloody tight and just paid to get it done properly.  Vain?  Perhaps.  OCD?  Definitely.

Decisions, decisions.

But I have bigger things to concern myself with.  Mostly where the dress is concerned. 

Why?

Because it’s floor length.  And I WILL trip over the hem of it at some point.  That is as inevitable as death and taxes. 

Fuck.

I’m fairly certain that this is how the evening will go where the dress is concerned and this is why I have no doubt that I’ll embarrass myself in front of my entire company:

5:30pm – Arrive at hotel with Kat and start getting ready for christmas party.

5:35pm – Open first bottle of wine to drink whilst getting ready

6:35pm – Open second bottle of wine

7:00pm – Make my way to the Grand Hall in the hotel for said Black Tie Christmas Party wearing uber fabulous dress and feeling equally funky with myself (and maybe a little tipsy)

7:15pm – Buy large glass of rosé to smother the nerves of wearing a glam dress in public and in an attempt to not care if I’m being judged on said dress – which, for the record, shows off my boobs.

7:30pm – Sit down for 3 course dinner.  Am on a table with people I like so the necessity for polite chit-chat isn’t so great.  (Thank God because I babble when I’m nervous or lost for actual meaningful conversation and have this awful knack of offending people who don’t get my sense of humour!! Yeah, like that could ever actually happen – everyone ‘gets’ my sense of humour… Or not)

9:30pm – Finish meal (along with the wine on the table). 

9:30pm – 10:30pm – Mingle and make polite chit chat.  Note to self: Do not attempt your humour with the Directors.  Some of them aren’t real people.  You can’t talk to them.

10:30pm – Grab Kat, make way to dancefloor and throw a few shapes around

I wont feel at all complete until the DJ plays Livin’ On A Prayer and I get to do my air guitar routine – which for the record is legendary around these parts….

It’s about now that I realise my feet hurt because not only have I (freely) opted to wear silly shoes all evening but I’ve been throwing myself around the dance floor so, against my better judgement, I’ll take the shoes off.

Pop Quiz: What did I say earlier about the dress? 

No scrolling back up to re-read the post……

That’s right – it’s floor length! 

(If you remembered that without having to read it back, go ahead and give yourself a gold star)

In my rosé induced haze I WILL forget that the dress is floor length.  I WILL forget to lift the dress ever so slightly so as not to walk into the hem of it and I probably WILL fall completely flat on my face. 

In front of my work colleagues. 

….. and the other 250 guests from other companies who’ll be at the same venue.

The non-conformist in me tells me that I should change some bits around so it doesn’t happen.  But like what?  I’ll NEVER find another dress that a) fits me and b) looks good between now and Thursday evening.  I can’t change the shoes because anything higher will make the dress look too short and anything flatter will have the same effect as no shoes.

Fuck it.

Maybe I’ll just accept my fate now and pre-warn everyone.

By the way: I fully accept that this post makes me sound like an alcoholic.  I’m not.  I just like wine.  And it’s christmas for christ sakes so anyone who doesn’t like it can shove it up their ass.

Except you.  Not you.  I like you. 

pah – I didn’t want the dress anyway

The dress sucked.

Which one?  The one in my ‘object of my affection’ post.

I mean, Keira didn’t like it anyway.  I believe the term she used to describe it was ‘eugh’.

Great – I’m taking fashion advice from a 3 year old whose favourite item of clothing is a bright pink lazy town track suit.

But fear not!  I found a newer, prettier and all round lovelier dress to wear to my works christmas party.

<drum roll please>

TA-DA – Oh and the chick in the dress – not me - model from the catalogue!

Ooooh, pretty

I can hear you gasp in adoration!

It’s so pretty on too.  Makes my boobs look fabulous and covers all the lumps and bumps that Keira is solely responsible for that I inherited as part of motherhood.  You know, wobbly bits.

The glamorous shoes are sorted too.  Not that I can walk in them – but who cares?  It’s a sit down meal with a disco at the end so I’ll be sat for most of it and there’ll be a constant flow of rosé so I’ll probably discard my shoes in favour of being able to stand upright!

3 inch heels + rosé = walking disaster!