The Stepford Wife who revolted

The Stepford Wife who revolted

Money can only buy so much – humour buys a whole lot more….

If I see another glacé cherry this side of Christmas, I swear I will scream until I am blue in the face.  That and listening to Johnnie Mathis singing something about baby Jesus. Oh, and don’t get me started on cocktail sticks which now, cannot be plastic but of a highly bio degradable type of wood harvested from Brazilian rain forests which seems to be in direct opposition to saving the planet.  At one time “wood was good but plastic fantastic.”  Oh, how we have changed. I think humans are generally fickle.

Its all about the heels

What has not changed, however, is the amount of cocktails parties I either must attend or must organise.  Who said moving and grooving in high places was fun.  Oh yes, I may have a wardrobe full of JIMMY CHOOS and MANILO BLANIKS but let’s face it, you can hardly wear a pair of UGGS with a cocktail dress now can you?

Similarly, if I receive another slap on my backside and a knowing look; shake of the head or wink when I am considering a second piece of cheese and a Bath biscuit I may just take the cheese knife and stab it somewhere soft and squidgy.

Yes, I often ponder in my quieter moments, ( usually whilst sitting on the downstairs Loo) why it seems perfectly acceptable for the male species to put on more than a few pounds, more especially around their girth and get away with it, but the species of which I belong to has to smile and breathe and diet and exercise.  When did that become fair?

Of course life, and more particularly the one which I currently inhabit, has never been about being “ fair!”  Oh, Lordy me. Never fair. Balanced or equal.

I was given a small wad of cash the other day and with another one of those very patronising slaps on my bum told to go off and get something nice for tonight.  My emotions flickered between wanting to go and buy a frothy dress and realising how a prostitute might feel being paid for services yet to be rendered.  I wonder if they ever sigh at the thought of being yet again on the receiving end of “less than average sex” in exchange.   I know I do.

Oh yes I realise I am seen as an ungrateful wretch who should be pleased that I have such a sparkling social life and live a pampered existance but come on, let’s be fair, there are only so many times you can praise the hostess over her canapés of which have been bought in, or count how many times she has worn the same dress this season. Add to that, having some beached walrus bumping up and down on you twice week well I think I have earned my money.  And yes, I think it’s time to be radical!

Exotic Headdresses are all the rage

I stand at the top of the staircase, about to make my entrance.  I am late, but not fashionably so.  Many of the guests are there already. I take a deep breath.   Close my eyes and wait. It all goes quiet.  It’s exactly the sort of effect I had hoped my new outfit would conjure up.  My husband stares up at me.  His mouth drops open just for a second in a rather unattractive way.  From this angle, I can say that all that money he spent on dental work was certainly not worth the blood sweat and tears.   

You are probably wondering if he is struck dumb by my sheer beauty! The exquisite gown I am adorning.   The silence is palatable, and the effect is somewhat heady.  Even intoxicating, one might say.  Yes, this new outfit has caused quite a stir.

I start down the staircase, slowly, as I don’t want this moment to end.  All eyes are on me.    I grab the rail.  It wouldn’t do to slip and fall now. 

So just what am I wearing? Well, thank you for asking….

• High Heels.  The highest you can imagine worn outside of the bedroom.
• Fishnet Tights.  Not black but flesh coloured to make my legs lean and slender.
• Sparkly Leotard.  So blingy it competes with the chandelier in the hallway
• Exotic Headgear.  Very feathers and diamante and more than a kilo on my head
• A ruby red smile on the lips.  My dental work shows pristine white teeth outlined in flame red lipstick

Oh it’s nothing special, but it’s exactly what I was wearing when my Beloved first clapped eyes on me.  I reach the bottom of the stairs and as I walk across the room acknowledging the people there, I notice how heavy my headdress of feathers is.  I had never noticed the weight of it before. It is rather fun to nod at people and see the feathers dip low in front of me and either tickle their nose or stick in their eyes.   No one dares wave it away.

 My husband, in his haste to stop me in my tracks and usher me into the kitchen, has stepped on my train and pulled it away from the rest of my costume.  It now lies on the floor like a felled animal.  Feathers and fur in a tangled mess. Killed for sport.  And what sport this has turned out to be.

I now seem to be walking around with a headdress on and a gold lame swimsuit.  Having caught the attention of the entire audience I throw a few high kicks in just to completely baffle everyone.  I even surprise myself how high I managed to get my legs up.   I dare say the Old Man didn’t know I was still that flexible…

 I don’t care. I keep on walking to the whisper in my ear of “For God’s sake sweetie what are you doing ?”

I turn. I smile and say, “Sorry darling, I thought it was my duty to perform for you and the next performance has just started.  Do take a seat.”

I shout over to the silly bloke playing some Muzak on a piano which was brought in especially for tonight, regardless of the lack of space for it. It makes some background noise but does little for atmosphere.   

“Hey. Do you know Shirley Bassey? .  Big spender?”

He nods back at me with a look of both bewilderment and amusement on his face.  I think he is on my side and goes for it.

And with that I place my hands on my hips, kick my leg high in the air and “Can Can” towards the Waitress who, bless her, seems to be encouraging me with her eyes.

“Another drink anyone? Now let’s get this party started.  Tonight we party and tomorrow I head out to my Lawyers…..”