Pretty Woman

It’s that time of year again and I’m getting déjà vu because I seem to remember moaning about it twelve months ago. How it becomes the norm to eat lots because it’s cold, stop exercising because it’s cold. And drink. All the time. When mulled wine becomes acceptable, because it’s cold, when really it’s pretty rank. So in the week before the 25th I’ve already put on a few pounds, my insides feel like road kill and my outsides, well, you get the picture. And because ‘it’s Christmas’ we have to get dressed up and go to parties. When you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense.

I think I’ve established I was as reluctant as ever to get into my glad rags this year. That was until the (in)decent proposal. A very good friend of my sisters (and friend of mine, it’s just I never normally see him without my sister if that makes sense) who works in the city asked me for a favour. Would I be his date for his work Christmas ball)?… (Quickly followed by) if you don’t have anything suitable, I’ll buy you an outfit. Ordinarily, I would have thought ‘free booze and free food – I’m sold’, but in this case, the theme really threw me. I needed something full length and black, preferably with diamonds.

I’m almost cringing as I write this, but I let him take me shopping. The ball would be full of corporate twats talking crap, seriously, I was doing him a favour! But shopping with someone else’s credit card, not as easy as I thought… We only had the night before to dash around Selfridges and it happened to be the night after my work Christmas do (a modest underground members club in comparison) so I was literally hanging. I floated around the designer floor (just to get a sense of erm, the variety out there) and found myself ambushed by this pushy sales assistant who started lining up £1,000 dresses in the changing room as soon as I mumbled something about a long black dress. Big mistake, HUGE!

Needless to say, couldn’t cope, started having hot flushes… and that was just my friend.  Ended up on the high street floor and found the gown I had been picturing in my head… In Ted Baker of all places. In the sale! The irony…

Black floor length dress, Ted Baker, white 1950s clutch, vintage, 

black and white diamante earrings, vintage

I still feel a bit weird about the fact he bought it for me, and I still feel slightly broken after the big night. But I’m a single girl, he’s a genuinely lovely guy and I didn’t stop giggling all night. It was full of corporate twats as predicted and after five glasses of pre-dinner champagne I was practicing my best ‘I’m not his girlfriend, I’m a hooker’, but I restrained. All in all I was the perfect date. Until the carriage turned into a pumpkin. Well, the taxi got infested with wine we’d stolen from the ball and we drove to a house party in Hackney and I crawled home at 7.30am in the snow, tripping over my ball gown with every step.