J (who is actually called Jasmine, I’m fed up with calling her J) has been ill all morning, throwing up in the toilets. She said she thought it must have been something Glenn cooked her last night. He made her nettle soup, apparently, and she’s not sure where he got the nettles from. I wouldn’t want to eat a London nettle, myself. There can’t be a single one that hasn’t been urinated on.
Anyhoo, she was just getting ready to go home when she called me over and said did I want to go to a party at Michael’s tonight? She was supposed to go, representing the agency etc, and she’s pretty sure she won’t be able to make it. So isn’t that amazing? I’ve just rung up the hairdresser’s and booked an emergency blow-dry, and I’m sitting here wondering what to wear. I really wish I hadn’t eaten all those cakes now, as I’ve got this disgusting roll of fat round my waist. I’m definitely not having any more of Jo’s chocolate-chip cookies today.
5 comments:
Have fun! And, you will look Fabulous. No worries!
Moo!
Dear Miss Scones, As my dear old mother used to say "Where will I find a good corsetiere, for her price is above rubies". I have tried to live my life to this maxim. When will you young people learn that the silhouette is always enhanced by the correct choice of foundation garment?
There is no reason why eating an entire roulade, say, should be of concern if you have a heavily-elasticated constrictor from bustline to mid-thigh.
Cordially yours, Mrs Pouncer
Dear Topiary, how kind you are! Sorry I didn't reply sooner, but I was in such a rush last night - and then today we were swamped with work. But your remark cheered me very much when I was panicking about the fake tan I'd put on my legs (and which had blotched,as usual, near the ankle) Love scones x
Dear Mrs Pouncer, the trouble with constrictive elasticwear - like the enormous entire-body underwear that Gok Wan is so fond of stuffing ladies into, is this - what happens if the man of your dreams actually pounces, and then finds all this elasticky stuff, holding in great shelves of wobble? Won't he be put off? I can't see him being as nice about it as Hugh Grant was about Bridget's big panties. Love scones x
Cow must side with Mrs. Pouncer on this delicate question.
The thought is, without the stretchy confines, there might not BE a second or third date, by which time either a mad diet has made the underwear unneccesary, or you'll know him well enough to duck into his bathroom to discreetly remove it before...anything occurs.
Moo!
Dear Miss Scones I had absolutely no idea that you had any sort of ill-advised romantic attachment in mind. My suggestion was based on wholesome activities, such as manning tombolas, demonstrating electric tapestry-thread sorters or leading an Eightsome Reel. Are you quite sure that your poor mother would be proud to read such a post? Cordially, Mrs Pouncer
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