Wine tasting.
Erugh. I went to a wine tasting yesterday evening. I tasted and it was good. Then I tasted some more and then my host-the lovely girl- brought out yet more wine, this time with spicy chilli crisps and cheese, that was terrifically good.
However this morning I am feeling not so terrifically good and there is a fucking alarm going off close by, it's going weeewooo weeeeoooo, only very loud indeed. So loud in fact I can feel it in my teeth.
I am sitting here-at the end of the dining room table- wearing one of the paramour's enormous hoodies, my hair askew and eyes all squinty and puffy.
What could possibly make me feel worse than I do right now I might wonder idly.
Why I know, the sudden realisation that I, Fatmammycat the VELLY hungover, said I would go into town with a friend of mine to look for a dress for a wedding.
This friend is notoriously picky. She will try on every dress she sees, asking 'What about this one, hummm?
I will say, 'Yes, it's lovely buy that one!'
To which she will reply, 'I don't like the line/shoulders/ hem/way it moves/colour/style.'
I will swear in my head and wonder why the fuck she tried it on then.
'I think I preferred that one we saw in Wallis.' She will say, forcing me to throttle myself.
'Or was it Wallis?'
We will go back to Wallis where she will remember she didn't actually like that dress either.
She will do this repeatedly until I keel over with a sudden case of death.
I don't know why she wants me to go along. It won't matter what I think, it never has before and today will not be any different.
Why do people do that? Why ask if you've already made up your own mind? Why ask me? Why God why?
Why today? Why that alarm? Why me?
So, what fantastical excuse can I use to get out of this? She'll be on the road by one and here about half an hour after that, so we've a few hours. Come on! THINK! DAMN IT! Think!
However this morning I am feeling not so terrifically good and there is a fucking alarm going off close by, it's going weeewooo weeeeoooo, only very loud indeed. So loud in fact I can feel it in my teeth.
I am sitting here-at the end of the dining room table- wearing one of the paramour's enormous hoodies, my hair askew and eyes all squinty and puffy.
What could possibly make me feel worse than I do right now I might wonder idly.
Why I know, the sudden realisation that I, Fatmammycat the VELLY hungover, said I would go into town with a friend of mine to look for a dress for a wedding.
This friend is notoriously picky. She will try on every dress she sees, asking 'What about this one, hummm?
I will say, 'Yes, it's lovely buy that one!'
To which she will reply, 'I don't like the line/shoulders/ hem/way it moves/colour/style.'
I will swear in my head and wonder why the fuck she tried it on then.
'I think I preferred that one we saw in Wallis.' She will say, forcing me to throttle myself.
'Or was it Wallis?'
We will go back to Wallis where she will remember she didn't actually like that dress either.
She will do this repeatedly until I keel over with a sudden case of death.
I don't know why she wants me to go along. It won't matter what I think, it never has before and today will not be any different.
Why do people do that? Why ask if you've already made up your own mind? Why ask me? Why God why?
Why today? Why that alarm? Why me?
So, what fantastical excuse can I use to get out of this? She'll be on the road by one and here about half an hour after that, so we've a few hours. Come on! THINK! DAMN IT! Think!
Labels: friends, the horror., the pain, wine
posted by fatmammycat at 10:54 a.m.
14 Comments:
Tell her the paramour left you this morning and that it would be too painful to look at dresses for weddings. Then cry a little (v. easy with hangover, just scrunch your eyes up and think how many more pairs of shoes you could have bought with your lifetime spend on the demon drink). Then ring her this evening to tell her of your miraculous reconciliation before she has time to tell anybody...
Failing that you could fake a case of MRSA. She won't believe you but she won't be willing to take a chance either...
The breakup line will just get her to say 'let's go shopping, take your mind off it.' But MRSA, you say...how would one go about faking that I wonder. Although I'd imagine I'm doing a steller job right this moment of looking wretched and most poorly.
Oh, cry cry.
I'm never drinking again!
Anything with sickness in is good. Like that all your cats have come down with 24-hour Dengue fever.
If she still shows up, vomit on her. That'll learn her, the tenacious thing.
Could you not just tell her to get to fuck? Or is she one of these "sensitive" types?
She's 'sensitive' when it suits her.
I might just vomit actually, and not in a fake way either. I'm hungover like a goat. I've got to go have a shower, but every time I think about THAT my head threatens to explode.
Damn wine, damn delicious vicious wine.
Now. Brilliant. That's exactly how all men feel, all the time, when shopping with women.
I usually say, Look, it doesn't matter what you get. You'll still have an enormous arse that nothing can hid, so buy THAT one!!!
What man in his right mind goes shopping with a woman? What woman in her right mind would want a man to go shopping with her?
I'm confused.
I have recently been asked what woman in her right mind would go shopping with a man in a DIY store.
"They all look at screws and nuts and bolts and things for hours!!
Well yes. We do.
Oh God, I know the feeling. Only I went shopping with my sister for her ACTUAL wedding dress.
Cue hours and hours - days actually - of checking out dresses everywhere from Debenhams to madly expensive botiques off Grafton Street where you have to ring a bell to get in and they only allow you in if your shoes are up to scratch. (You know the type of places, snooty women looking down at you while you resist the urge to scream 'get out of your own hole, you work in a SHOP love!')
Anyway, I spent ages helping her try on dresses only for her to bite her lip, frown and say 'hmmm I dunno, this one has a bit of a stain on it and the hem isn't quite right'......I had to chop off my own nostrils to prevent myself shouting 'Of COURSE there's a stain, this is the shop sample! They make a new one for you, in your size, you won't be buying this actual onnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee'
It was torture. It's a bit late now, but I hope it wasn't too painful for you!
Missed you at the blog awards by the way...were you there or did I just miss your name tag?
Shopping should be done in peace and quiet and ALONE.
I popped my head in early in the night and then popped it straight back out again Kaz, next year we'll have a bevy or two.
Digital camera. It's the only way to go when wedding dress shopping. And a notebook to document which store the photos are from. That way? you don't have to go back, AND you have evidence that the dress is, indeed, as horrible as you recall.
Good luck.
My mother once made me spend several weekends shopping for a bed for her (how my father got out of it seeing as it was his bed too I don't know). According to her this is the most important purchase you can make as you spend a third of your life in it and this particular bed was to last her the rest of her life. After the first Saturday when she got completely confused and forgot what she'd seen she got clever and started noting it all down in a notebook. After about a months's arsing round she picked one, rang up to order it and... there were none left. But they had one which they said was similar, so she took that. It arrived and it was rock hard and she actually cried. She got used to it in the end though.
Moral of the story - it's never worth the torture...
She cried? Poor old sausage.
I know. I've never seen her so disappointed (well except for when I announced I was leaving the country, and again when I announced I wasn't coming back). She got used to it though in the end (the bed that is, she's still struggling with the migrant daughter bit).
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