The horror...

No, the hubs' plane did not go down. Although that would be an event of epic magnitude, it wouldn't rock my world in quite the same way as this jawdroppingly awful event.

In Australia, EVERYONE follows a footy team. Not me, uhuh, no way. And every year we host a ceremony to reward the biggest fathead best player. Or something. It may actually be the guy who drank the most beer last weekend/assaulted the most girlfriends/sent the most obscene text messages. (Oh, sorry, that's cricket. Oops.) It's hard to be sure.

But SOMEONE (actually, many someones) makes quite a living exploiting the conniving I was born to marry a footballer lovely innocent girlfriends of these players by putting the ruffliest crap on their body without actually covering anything up and then parading them in front of said fatheads footy's noblest and finest. (Before you scream in outrage, yes, there ARE morons people out there whose life aspiration was/is to marry a footballer. Not a PARTICULAR footballer. A footballer. More than one of these very strange people have I known - you should picture me nodding sagely in a Yoda-like fashion at this point.)

The only way that dress got out of the store was by the 'designer' giving random people $50 (or a slab) to come in and gush "AWMIGAAWD! That's fantasssssstic, you don't look like a slapper at all!" (I'd do it for $20, but I'd know I could blog about it later.)
Look, honestly, I've been accused of leaving little to the imagination (full skirt +spinning on dance floor = drawer full of sensible knickers, and I did mention that jeans collection, which comes in varying degrees of tight) but there's something very wrong about wearing a sheer black bejewelled dipping-to-the-navel kaftan over a sequinned bra top (two cups sizes too small) no matter what size, age, or color you are. Extra demerit points for being oompa loompa orange.

That just made me think of The Chaser. How great would it have been to have Julian handing out Fashion Police tickets. As long as they read
"one free drink"  no-one would notice the
  "and you're a bloody idiot" printed underneath.

I know, I'm so cynical. But it's a game where winning scores are routinely in the hundreds.
Soccer's so difficult sometimes NO-ONE gets a goal. Perhaps it's a uniquely Australian thing; we can't fund our science departments well, schools are losing desperately needed teaching spaces (aka all the portables are playing silly buggers), we don't have national arts operating in the maroon, let alone black, and our leading politicians can barely string two words together. Oh, wait, that would be all the concussions they incurred back at Scotch and Melbourne Grammar playing football.

Anyway, we have this massive misallocation of funds. Football clubs can pay their stars a couple million per season, but local ovals are being closed because drought has made the playing surface dangerously hard. Someone wears a dress covered in diamonds, but the rest of it looks like Nanna's ruffled navy valance tucked and pinned in a few strategic spots. Uuuuuuugly.

I just don't know how to make it better.