Self obsession

Disclaimer: the following is a vent of no interest to man nor beast.

It is strange. In a matter of hours, my mother, widow of 19 years, is getting married. To a very nice man who I shall be proud to consider a parent. But still, strange.

I shall be maid of honour. In a dress that I got in a fit of slenderness delusion and in which I look like a jellybaby. An aqua blue mermaid jellybaby. Next to two aqua blue bridesmaids in a non fitted dress apiece that is oh so much more forgiving.

Who designed the dresses? That'd be me.

A trip to the hairdresser today was meant to be a tidy up and have my hair ready for tomorrow. For no apparent reason, copious, copious, vast, choking amounts of hairspray were applied, which fused ever so brilliantly with the rain and wind. So, hair has needed to have been washed (3 times today!) and the length is now apparent. Before the product removal, the volume detracted from the length, now I can see it in all its lacking. This morning I had jaw length hair, which is pretty short. Now I have cheekbone length hair. Which is, erm, really short and not exactly becoming. Way too much face on display.

I shall also be the token sober person at the reception. Damned painkillers.

And so that is out of my system, sorry you got shared at, and now I can concentrate on how wonderful it is, and how wonderful the BRIDE, her whose day it is after all, shall look...