Today I received a long and convoluted email from PC, inviting me to her housewarming in a glam part of Paris where bouffant haired philosophers outnumber viciously psychotic old ladies (in itself a rarity).
The other addressees (hundreds! I can probably muster about 8 friends and that would include family members and clinically insane people met in therapy) had exotic names and email addresses, like vogue.com and culture.gov and lvmh.fr . There was a light smattering of other Eurozombies, though I assume they were French ones, with good hair.
The message, which MBF described as "the lewdest housewarming invitation I have ever seen" started with a gratuitous anecdote about persuading a team of builders to move her claw foot bath by wearing mini shorts and pretending to drop and pick things up. There was a lot of talk of filling the bath with Veuve and some mention of dates and times, but then came the killer phrase.
"Dress code: Something you look good bending over in".
Well. Internet. I am somewhat at a loss. Clearly mere clothes will not cut it. My initial thought was one of those individual one person saunas that jockeys use. Comme ceci:
And by the way, this picture? Making me laugh like fool.
What inspiration does Belgium offer (it has a heavy responsibility, since I hold the entire country responsible for the state of my arse)?
(yes, I have 130 photos of the damn parade, you can expect to see them reused at every tenuous opportunity)
I am open to suggestions. Possibly I will showcase some outfits tomorrow. I may even have to convene an emergency session of Belgian Fashion Clinic! Watch this space. If you dare.