And we're off to some little random place in Brunswick called the Court Jester. Their menu looks great, all comfort food and warming, bulky dishes. Occasion? Crazy Elf's birthday. And I do SO enjoy celebrating other people's birthdays. The pressure's off me. I can pick fights with the other guests, drink as much as I like, wear whatever I want and I'm not getting any older.
Except I never actually do.
I have arguments (usually with myself inside the privacy of my own skull) don't actually like being drunk, and I am getting a day older like everyone else.
You'll notice that I didn't go near the wear whatever I want thing.
My wardrobe hasn't changed much since my uni days (I once wore a full-length cotton-and-tulle petticoat with a white bonds singlet (hand-beaded) and although I usually wear jeans five days a week now, the petticoat still lurks....
Unfortunately, the bohemian (a.k.a. the "we just rolled out of bed and put this godawful WHATEVER on right over the top of our pyjamas and these aren't ACTUAL pyjamas, you understand, they're the camo pants my housemate's GRANDFATHER died in") crowd tend to sneer at those who make sartorial CHOICES as opposed to wearing the thing with the least stains on it. I'm fine with that, I just choose not to participate.
Which means I will be wearing black rats (shiny AND warm) with other stuff. Haven't decided yet, but some kind of mishmash. Which I will probably pull from the heaped chair beside my bed.
*Oh god, I'm more bohemian than I realised.
My darling husband, being a computer geek in SO many ways, will ask me what he feels like wearing. I will tell him to wear whatever he wants before saying "Argh! No! NOT those jeans, they show your SHINS!" *Must remember to throw said shin-baring monstrosities out while he's next "recreationally programming".
Hi ho, off to the shower I go.
2 days ago