There are some things which just make my toes curl up, and induce fear and trembling into my heart in an instant.  We all have them ,apparently –  phobias, hang-ups and insecurities.  Or at least, that’s what they’d have you believe…you know – that even Cosmo models have hang ups about their looks (hahaha) and that even the most accomplished performer is nervous going on stage…that sort of thing.

Personally I think it’s a load of bollocks.  When you can Waka Waka like Shakira and when you look like Kate Moss – it’s pretty lame to claim insecurity as one of your lesser attributes.  I mean – can you honestly tell me the Nivea girl worries about her cellulite??

Anyway – I digress.

One thing that really sends me into a blind panic is being invited to a dress-up party… Not a Hat Party, or a Masquerade, or a Wear Pink party.  That sort of thing is easy.  Fun, at a stretch.  But what I really, really, really hate is being invited to a Vampire Party.  Or a Pimps and Prostitutes Party.  Or, worse still – a Rocky Horror party.

Because, let’s face it – it’s hard enough as it is just getting dressed in the morning – finding a confortable pair of knickers without holes in is a challenge all of its own.  But when you throw in fishnet stockings and liquid eye-liner….well, let’s just say it is Not My Thing.

(On a side note – I believe there are gals who wear matching underwear just to do the school run… I kid you not!!!!  I don’t think I own a single bra that matches a single pair of knickers in my drawer.  I mean – when you buy those 3 for 1 specials from Asda made of t-shirt material, they generally don’t come with knickers in any case.  Seriously – who’s going to see your pants anyway? – apart from the proverbial ambulance driver who is going to hack them off in any case – assuming he has to access that part of your anatomy – and by that stage, seriously – who cares??   Or some libidinous Italian who cannot wait to get your clothes off…and I think I’d probably run several miles if any such person attempted such a thing – flattering or not.  So I generally go by the principle of – make sure your bra doesn’t show through your top (black under white is not cool, unless you’re Madonna), and make sure your pants don’t show through whatever you are wearing on your bottom half.  And if this results in a beige bra with purple (holey) pants – well, who cares??)

Anyway.  To get back to the point.  I don’t like dress-up.  Paticularly not dress-up that involves anything with the word Fish Net in it.  Fish nets are stinky, wet, cumbersome tools of the oceanic trade, and should stay where they are intended.

As for suspender belts – who on EARTH invented such things?  It had to be one of the Nivea Girl’s ancestors, because, seriously, no ordinary mortal would voluntarily come up with a brainwave like that.  I can just imagine it:

“Jacob, get thee hither and peruse my most wonderful invention!  See – what marvels lie in store for future generations of lucky female chubblers!  They may don my Belt so that it may cut becomingly into their soft torso, accentuating their rolls of Good Living.  Then they may put on these bewilderingly long socks and pull them up to the very lushest part of their voluptuous thighs, whereupon this extremely efficacious bit of lace will bite delightfully into their limbs, accentuating most wonderously the merits of  Not Taking Too Much Physical Exercise and Enjoying Life. To its Fullest.”

And don’t even get me STARTED on Bustiers and Corsets.  It’s all very well accentuating your cleavage and whatnot – but if you haven’t got one…well, it’s just all rather sad.  Perhaps you have not had the delightful experience of struggling into a bustier, getting someone brave to hook up a million hooks and eyes, or a billion pearly buttons, or tighten a cruel-looking satin ribbon, only to discover, belatedly, in somewhat of a swoon due to severe oxygen deprivation, that everything is extremely tight…except the Bit At The Top.

But if you have, you will know exactly what I mean.  Because The Bit At The Top is really the whole POINT!!  So there is nothing more soul-destroying than going through all that agony to look down at…nothing.  Not just the normal Nothing, which is an affliction I know well.  But NOTHING Nothing.  Extra-delineated, accentuated and exacerbated Nothing.  Worse still, looking down from one’s own perspective – you get a completely clear line of sight into…Nothing.  And sure – it’s not as though I have much to hide – but even I do not relish the thought of Percival Creep getting a bird’s eye view of the family jewels.  (Or pebbles in this case.)

So therein lies the problem.  Baldly stated – I have fat legs and no boobs.  There is really no other way of putting it, even as the Blogger.  And that’s a fact whether you dress it up or not.  The clothes do not maketh the Boobs or breaketh the child-bearing hips.  And that is why I do not like Dress-up.  Because no matter what I do, or how hard I try to pretend – basically I just look AWFUL.  So inviting me to a Rocky Horror dress-up is tantamount to feeding me vomit and making me sit naked in First Street.

And if you ever do invite me to such a thing, even if I have never met you in my life before, I can already tell 3 important things about you:

You either:

1. Are male,
2. Are named Randi or Apple and descend from the noble line of Gluteus Niveas (See Yoga Part 1), or
3. You look Extremely Good in Fishnets and Bustiers, and therefore, by default, also belong to 2. above.