I’m going out tonight. It’s been far too long between pub visits so although I’m just going to our local, I am ridiculously excited.
Remember the days of “getting ready” to go out? Of taking a scented, candlelit bath before breaking out your best moisturiser? Taking your time to put an outfit together? Matching it with accessories then spending time on your makeup? Now I get ready with the kids bouncing on the bed going, “Mummy’s getting fancy! Mummy’s getting fancy!”
Anyway, this is what I predict will happen as I’m preparing to go out tonight:
At the last minute, I will realise my hair needs a wash. Instead of washing it, I’ll just scrape it into a ponytail – one of those horizontal ones because length isn’t on my hair’s side. I’ll rough up the non-ponytail part of my hair so it doesn’t have that slicked-back oily look, and hope I get away with it.
|This look is the aim… (www.becauseclothing.com)|
I’ll remember I really needed to change that lightbulb as I’m putting some makeup on. I will therefore be applying my makeup in the dark. I’ll think I look OK, then, when I duck into the loo at the pub I will get one hell of a shock care of their mirror. It’s also thanks to the bright lights in the pub loo that I’ll remember I need to sort my eyebrows out. (Curly eyelashes = good, curly eyebrows = bad.)
|… but this look is more the reality.
(I included this pic for the Aussies. “I said love, I said pet…”)
I will have no idea what to wear. I’ll go through all my clothes which, individually, are perfectly fine but you can’t step out in just a shirt, can you? You need to match it with something. This is why I love dresses, because I don’t have to match them with anything except shoes. But the fact that it’s no longer summer rules my dresses out.
My husband will walk in and I’ll tell him I have absolutely no clothes. He’ll gesture to the layers of clothes strewn across the bed, things that I’ve tried on and discarded, and tell me I’m being daft. I’ll disagree and he’ll walk out as I’m mid-sentence, shaking his head and muttering something about my clothes taking over his wardrobe.
I’ll dig out my skinny clothes just in case I’ve lost 5 kilos without realising it and, surprise surprise, I have not lost 5 kilos without realising it. Damn.
I’ll go to my “these need adjusting” clothes. These are made up of charity shop and e-bay finds – bits and bobs that were so dirt cheap I had to buy them. Such clothes make up a large part of my wardrobe. You see, that’s the problem with buying second-hand clothes. They are so inexpensive that you don’t care that they don’t quite fit properly. So I have a stack of clothes that either need to be taken in, or the hem taken up, or something critical needs repairing. I just need to learn to sew, buy a sewing machine, spend a couple of days tailoring and I’ll be sorted. (I’ve been saying this for the past 5 years.)
After trying everything on, I’ll end up wearing the first thing I tried. A black top and jeans. Yawn.
I know these things will happen because they happen every time I go out. I’m nothing if not a creature of habit.
What’s your going-out ritual?