The healing power of fashion.
'Urgh,' I said when I opened my eyes this morning. 'Urgh and yow.'
I went out see, last night, to a gal pal's house, there was wine drunk and some sort of quiche eaten, then more wine was drunk, next thing you know I"m back home, NOT talking (for fear of sounding slurring) and trying to tidy the kitchen.
'You probably should go to bed.' The paramour said as I tried to tie two plastic bags together for no discernible reason.
I nodded in agreement, went upstairs, washed my face and then I woke up this morning.
Ugh.
With a cold.
And a hangover, a... hold.
Less than amused at this discovery I made my way-gingerly- downstairs.
'Bindrow?' The bigger of the cats said.
'Velly.' I replied in Christopher Lee's voice, opening presses -which sounded like trees falling- and putting the kettle on- which sounded like a waterfall and then an explosion.
I sat at the table to wait, noticing as I did that my ear are blocked and my throat feels like it's tied up with razor wire.
Truly mingingly awful.
'Oh woe is me, bigger of the cats.' I cried, admiring the way he can sit in a chair and look remarkably like a person. Well, if I knew any black and white furry people. 'Woe' I say.
'Ech-narp.' Said he.
'Pork! I should co-co.' I laughed, but I stopped laughing when I realised there was an AK47 going off in a metallic room somewhere nearby.
I made coffee and a hot lemon drink.
I carried them in here. My footsteps were sonic booms.
I switched on the Dapple. A small grenade, followed by an orchestra.
Bling, it said loudly, and a red dot appeared in my mail.
Spam spam spam spam, work related crapology, work related crapology.
Bah!
But then...what's this? An email, from City Gay no less, that most elusive of thistles.
'Darling, I"ve got two tickets to the gala opening of Kildare Retail Village (http://www.kildarevillage.com/Kildare/home.asp?lan=en) tomorrow night. Want to come? It's gala Darling, you'll probably need a new gúna! Pm me, we'll have a drink in the Fitz and then grab the bus!'
Retail? Village? New dress? Moi!
Who has time to be ill? Who has time to be hungover? There are dresses to be hunted. And lo, I have new shoes upstairs just waiting for an outing such as this.
Oh fashion, you never let me down.
I love you.
Kissy kissy.
FMC
I went out see, last night, to a gal pal's house, there was wine drunk and some sort of quiche eaten, then more wine was drunk, next thing you know I"m back home, NOT talking (for fear of sounding slurring) and trying to tidy the kitchen.
'You probably should go to bed.' The paramour said as I tried to tie two plastic bags together for no discernible reason.
I nodded in agreement, went upstairs, washed my face and then I woke up this morning.
Ugh.
With a cold.
And a hangover, a... hold.
Less than amused at this discovery I made my way-gingerly- downstairs.
'Bindrow?' The bigger of the cats said.
'Velly.' I replied in Christopher Lee's voice, opening presses -which sounded like trees falling- and putting the kettle on- which sounded like a waterfall and then an explosion.
I sat at the table to wait, noticing as I did that my ear are blocked and my throat feels like it's tied up with razor wire.
Truly mingingly awful.
'Oh woe is me, bigger of the cats.' I cried, admiring the way he can sit in a chair and look remarkably like a person. Well, if I knew any black and white furry people. 'Woe' I say.
'Ech-narp.' Said he.
'Pork! I should co-co.' I laughed, but I stopped laughing when I realised there was an AK47 going off in a metallic room somewhere nearby.
I made coffee and a hot lemon drink.
I carried them in here. My footsteps were sonic booms.
I switched on the Dapple. A small grenade, followed by an orchestra.
Bling, it said loudly, and a red dot appeared in my mail.
Spam spam spam spam, work related crapology, work related crapology.
Bah!
But then...what's this? An email, from City Gay no less, that most elusive of thistles.
'Darling, I"ve got two tickets to the gala opening of Kildare Retail Village (http://www.kildarevillage.com/Kildare/home.asp?lan=en) tomorrow night. Want to come? It's gala Darling, you'll probably need a new gúna! Pm me, we'll have a drink in the Fitz and then grab the bus!'
Retail? Village? New dress? Moi!
Who has time to be ill? Who has time to be hungover? There are dresses to be hunted. And lo, I have new shoes upstairs just waiting for an outing such as this.
Oh fashion, you never let me down.
I love you.
Kissy kissy.
FMC
Labels: cold, unusual cures.
posted by fatmammycat at 10:36 am
22 comments
