“Come to a drinks evening” they said. “Ok, thank you, I’d love to.”
“Come to a drinks evening with some added films to watch” they said. “Ok, thank you, again I’d love to.”
And so the date was set and all i had to do was look forward to it. There was even going to be someone there that I knew, maybe a couple of people, so my hatred and fear of being amongst crowds of strangers was lessened.
And then the email arrived a few days before. Oh yes, by the way, we’ve decided to have a ‘theme’, so dress accordingly, it’s “obsession”.
Now I just have a wardrobe. It just has shirts, trousers, socks, shorts, ties and fleeces in it. Nowhere does my wardrobe have some magical costume compartment where obscure and abstract words can be interpreted through the medium of textiles.
And in any case I just don’t feel I look good in anything that I do have. I’m now a fat, aging bloke who has long lost any sense of looks or style. The next thing that I’ll be wearing that anyone thinks I look good in will be a shroud. It’s so much easier for girls for whom there’s a never-ending supply of pretty dress and shoes to choose from. I’m not fashion conscious and really don’t have the imagination or the skill to just ‘put together’ an outfit like other people seem to do.
I hate dressing up. Ever since I was a tiny child I’ve hated fancy dress parties. Hated costume parties, hated and avoided them. I thought this was just going to be a nice relaxing evening with drinks and some friends. Now it seems there’s some fancy dress theme which I’ve no idea how to interpret. No idea and no inclination to. I hate with a passion this need that every party organiser seems to have of including a ‘theme’.
So yet again this is something else that I can’t go to because I’ve no idea what I’ve got that would be appropriate and I’m not going to have a guess and then turn up looking either completely bland or worse, looking like a twat to be laughed at.
I just wished I’d known there was going to be a dressing up element before I paid for the ticket.