Dressy do and blowing my brains out with a kazoo

So wedding season is upon us.

With a load of weddings and a few other dressy do’s coming up, it’s yet another excuse for me to want to blow my brains out with a kazoo – or something slightly more powerful and destructive.

Seriously people, you don’t get how fucking hard it is to find something to wear that suits me and I know I’m not alone in this experience.

 

Even an elephant would look better than me in a skirt

I have legs that would boost the ego of an African elephant wearing a mini-skirt and bingo wings that swing better than the heaviest of orangutans between trees. I’m surprised there aren’t seismic shock waves sent around the world when I walk.

My bingo wings swing better than an orangutan

Butterfly effect? Fuck that, this is full on Pterosaur Quetzalcoatlus in action.

 

That ain't no butterfly effect

I have an arse that even J-Lo would consider too sticky out and thighs that actually applaud if you wiggle them in the right way. Ask GHM if you don’t believe me, he’s experienced my rendition of the last night of the proms standing ovation! There is plenty of seismic land, no hope and certainly no glory.

Sticky Out bum? That's not a sticky out bum...

So when the dreaded words “wedding” or “party” are uttered, I go into conniption and so do those who’ve experienced me in this situation before. You can hear them shuffling away in different countries. hibernation suddenly seems a plausible option for the next few weeks or months. It’s easier to pretend you’ve fallen out with me for the next few weeks or months than agree to come shopping.

y’see I was blessed with a proportionately smaller waist than hips and shoulders and my tits are effin huge! In my fitter days, although no less problematic for me, I had a figure people envied. Of course they didn’t understand the clothing conundrums, I had back then..

all up top and down below, nothing in the middle

While everyone is meant to aspire to the hourglass shape and Gok Wan rants on about how we need to fake it if we don’t have it, if we do happen to be blessed with the arse and waist of a sand filled timing implement, don’t ever expect designers to come up with something that might fit.

LIAR

Gok Wan lied, clothes are not made on an hourglass model, they’re made on an apple or a pear or a plank of wood. Designed in the pub, while the designer is pissed and laughing at us with his anorexic mates, who incidentally have the personalities of an apple, pear or plank of wood.

Designers prefer to make clothes for eggs

If I was shaped like an egg plus sized clothes would be ideal, same if I had the proportions of a niknak, but regardless of how large or small I am, I end up with a waistband like a hula hoop and the seams at the breasts and hip groaning like a sinking ship. The sound of titanic going under was neither smooth nor sexy. The same can be said for me holding in my bits for fear of explosion.

Literally… KABOOM!

And then my tits and arse are hanging out wibbly wobbly for all to see.

I found a dress once. In 2004 or 2005. I wore it to every occasion that required it, including the Royal Garden Party. I was a legitimate gatecrasher. We lied about my age, I look young… what can I say? The shortbread was lovely and the tea a little too strong for my liking. Sadly its now two sizes too small, slightly worn looking and more pine bog cleaner than pine green.

I had a dress custom-made once too. It was lovely. As it was custom-made in some chinese sweatshop, I imagine by a blind 90-year-old woman cursing my hips, it fitted my gargantuan proportions. Sadly that is also too small now.

Eurohike the primark version of Vango

It seems having a fucked thyroid and a child means I’m destined to go out dressed in the season’s finest Vango or Eurohike. Don’t get me wrong, this season’s colours are particularly fetching and may well last into next summer too, but I find the zips on the leg holes a bit irritating and people are prone to pegging in the guy ropes if I dare to sit down.There is also the embarrassing issue of the steamed up windows always resting on my foofular region. Not great when your pelvic floors aren’t as toned as they used to be and streaks of piss trickle down the window, as you dance the night away.

Oh the japery!

So none of this ranting solves the problem of what to wear at these things.

I could wear a trouser suit but I don’t want to look like I’m going to court or to count beans in a basement. I guess I could be hip and wear a jump suit. I mean we should all be jumping at weddings and parties anyway! I don’t think they’re meant to be tight but I could be starting a fashion.

I’m not tall enough for long maxi dresses (think midget in a bin bag) and it would be a crime punishable by life imprisonment to wear anything above the knee.

I have tattoos that need hidden from easily shocked elderly maiden aunts and impressionable youths so it needs long sleeves too.

like a cross between a james bond extra and milktray man

I may as well make it a polo neck too. How about thick black or navy wool to make me itch, just to add to the discomfort and ridicule.

I fucking hate shopping. I hate wearing clothes that are uncomfortable, expensive and make me look like a twat. I might as well wear a twat.

If I'm gonna look like a twat, I should just look like a twat