I had been trying to persuade someone they should wear my totally unworn red dress to a wedding last week, and had even gone as far as getting it out and taking its picture. Here it is:
It's a terrible picture, but I am too lazy and inert to try and take another one. Passons.
Being a disgusting slattern, the dress had never made its way back as far the wardrobe and was sitting on the chair in my bedroom waiting for the clothes pixies to carry it away. Getting dressed yesterday morning, it caught my eye.
There are several reasons why I have never worn this dress (bought on a whim on the internet, very cheap). Firstly and most importantly, it is a COLOUR. Aaaah colour. My basic rule of thumb is that I limit myself to the colour spectrum of the domestic hamster. If it isn't a colour that hamsters come in, I will not wear it. This dress is emphatically not a self-effacing russet. It is OH MY FUCKING GOD THAT IS RED. Orangey red even. Secondly it is made of tremendously light summery silk, and I live in Belgium and lead the existence of a cave dwelling hermit. Where, exactly would I wear such a thing? [Belgiana dwellers, this is your cue to invite me to the kind of parties where I can wear floaty silk nuclear red dresses. I have many other skills including falling over, becoming totally mute in company and stealing your spoons.]
But something in my reptilian brain snapped yesterday morning and I put the damned dress on. Then I put on some thoroughly opaque black tights and black ballet flats and went downstairs. I told myself that I would wear the dress to see whether life would be different in red. Also, that if anyone asked, I would tell them I was having a midlife crisis. I will set out my results below. I think, if I were scientifically minded, I would have to say that the data is unreliable and inconclusive.
The children were nonplussed, but relatively undemonstrative.
"Waouh. You are red!" said Lashes, before turning back to Pokématters. Fingers did not comment, but prodded me a couple of times speculatively, as if checking to see if it was really me.
Conclusion: children notice changes in dress habits but do not care.
2. Other household members
The CFO was away, so no comment from him. Probably for the best. The dog behaved like a shithead, laying waste to my tights, so was apparently not affected at all.
Conclusion: the weepette has no brain and should not be included in the data set.
3. Corridor of Ennui meeting
Two women commented favourably, if slightly eyebrow raisedly on the dress and I gave them my line about the midlife crisis. They laughed nervously. It solicited no male interest or comment whatsoever. Most attendees were already busy staring at their shoes. Eye contact, previously rare, became non-existent.
Conclusion: women notice sartorial nervous breakdowns, men don't. I am totally breaking new sociological grounds with this investigation aren't I? It's GROUND BREAKING, people. .
Went out for lunch, in and of itself an achievement in these credit crunchy times. It was tremendously strange, with menus in giant perspex cylinders, tiny burgers on perilously long sticks, waving in the breeze and luridly green sauces in small plastic syringes. I got drunk on 2 glasses of champagne, thereby screwing up the remaining data entirely.
Conclusion: Drinking champagne in a red dress is nice, but screws up necessary scientific objectivity for the remainder of the day, sorry experiment.
5. Tram journey home.
The driver lurched away from my stop in usual murderous fashion sending me flying. I was caught by three pairs of male hands, one of them on my arse.
Conclusion: the red dress increased tram chivalry and possibly accidental groping from elderly military gentlemen. The red dress has no effect on the homicidal tendencies of 92 tram drivers.
6. Back home, dog duty
When I took the weepette to the parc du caca, the beautiful baseball throwing Mexican boy who makes me go all trembly, threw his baseball for the idiot dog many times then sat next to me on the bench and asked the weepette out for a drink. This was just weird. He bent down and addressed the weepette and said "If you are allowed, you can come out for a drink with me this weekend". WHAT DOES IT MEAN, INTERNET? I know you may suggest it was sort of addressed at me, but there was NO follow up. He left a couple of minutes later. Does he date skinny dogs? Is it intended to be mysterious? Did I imagine it? Was it a joke? I blame the red dress for allowing me to imagine it was anything other than yet another piece of Belgian weirdness.
Conclusion: the red dress allows me to entertain, or possibly hallucinate, the possibility of enigmatic invitations from handsome youths. This is not a good train of thought for me. Bad dress. Bad, bad dress.
7. Final stage
I took the red dress off (now very crumpled, and quite constricting around the ribs), as the red dress friendly pants I had to wear with it were cutting me in half. Then I got food poisoning.
Conclusion: the red dress provides protection against food poisoning.
I remain a graceless idiot whether in or out of a red dress. I should plan posts earlier in the day, especially when I know that the latter half of the day will be spent dancing attendance on Team Beast. The weepette may or may not have a date.