I have an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
It’s not something I have done… more something I’ve said I will do; now it’s looming rather bloody close and I am characteristically unprepared.
I’ve said I will go out on Friday night, with the P4 (what’s that in American… Middle Grade?) Mummies.
A Friday night – right when my pyjama’ed butt should be anchored to the sofa like a limpet to it’s rock, I need to be out, in town, smiling and talking to people. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
When was the last time I was out socially, at night time, not counting family? I genuinely don’t remember. There was a book group meeting in the pub, that was in November, I think, and the OMD concert, but that I think was in October, so even further back. Have I really not gone out since?
No – there was the Christmas market with my friend… at Christmas – obviously, but I think that was the last, I’ve been in hibernation since, either that or my memory truly is shot to hell! And now I have said I’ll go out this Friday night.
I have nothing to wear.
Or to be exact – I have nothing to wear on a night out.
I have clothes for work, I’m sick looking at them, and to be honest, most have seen better days.
I have clothes for the school run – not up to the standard of some, i.e Designer Mums & Pedigree Chums we’re talking jeans and a jumper here.
I have any God’s amount of clothes for gardening in, or painting, or even stripping wallpaper. Yeah – settle down at the back, my stripper gear is paint splattered jeans and a big shirt, no boas or high heels.
Sorry – not sorry!
I even have some leftover maternity clothes, which are great for fitting my food baby belly into, but just no.
As for trendy ‘going out-out’ clothes, it’s a big fat zilch.
And with good reason, because I avoid going out like the plague!
I’ll need to defuzz.
Right now I’m still quite happy in my winter pelt. So this is going to take a gargantuan effort of depilation. Not just the legs, I’m going to have to squint into the mirror and address the twiglets currently residing on my chin and upper lip. As for my brows, hells bells, where do you start?
Anyone else use a machete on their eyebrows?
No? Just me then?
Thank God – nothing else needs attention, otherwise I would be getting a big rock to cover the door of the cave, before retreating for good.
You would think that given new found friends in the beauty blogging community, I might be sorted here, but no. I have read their posts, I know about contouring, and highlighting, I have heard of primer, though I’m more familiar with the type that goes on radiators, and I believe that apparently there is more than one way of putting on eyeliner. Who knew?
Ok, I’m lying, there is only one way of putting on eyeliner. Pull your recalcitrant eyelid out to the side, pull a funny face with your top lip, dab the excess off the end of the eyeliner brush then poke yourself in the eye before swearing loudly. Rub your eye and hey presto – smoky eye look.
I digress, mostly what I have learnt from beauty bloggers is, that I am woefully behind the times with makeup and it’s application. What worked back in the ’90’s with my DMs, no longer has any place in my bathroom cabinet, sad – but true. My vintage make up collection only extends so far!
And now time has kept up on me. The Night Out, is no longer ‘this Friday’ its tonight, and I’m no further on. Bear Grylls is unavailable to help with my eyebrows, I still haven’t found anything to wear – I’m going to have to go shopping (I HATE CLOTHES SHOPPING!!!!) Was I always like this? I mean – WTF happened?
I have, however, blown the dust off my fake tan, so it’s not all bad.
Anyway – wish me luck!