I go to these things as P's +1, ostensibly to make sparkling conversation. It's not obligatory but it's a nice thing to do to support P and his career and his workplace's desire to contribute to a worthy charity.
Charitable giving is good. I approve of charitable giving. Over the past year, I have sipped wine from the glasses I purchased in the blind auction at last year's ball with a smug glow. P has taken the signed, framed Kiwis' Rugby League jersey to work, so I never have to look at it again (honestly. Let's just take a moment to let that sink in. He purchased sporting memorabilia and let me pick it up as a 'surprise'. I utterly abhor all sporting memorabilia - that ugly, ugly sponsor's shirt from some car racing thingo has only escaped my matches by virtue of being pit-lane-inflammable, the motherfucker. Oh, and the All Blacks jersey because torching that would lead to divorce, not to mention revocation of my citizenship. AND P KNOWS THIS HATRED. He thought it was hilarious. It wasn't. It was pushing my buttons for the sake of it and I just about throttled him. I certainly unleashed my patented Look of Disdain and Contempt. Whoa, digression + a rant, you lucky things.)
Aaaaanyway, despite my approval of charitable giving and my appreciation for one of last year's charitable purchases, I still don't fancy going tonight. (a) I still don't approve of the excessive spending that goes into these charity ball things, (b) I don't fancy making small talk just now, and (c) I think I'll look fat in my lovely Juliette Hogan dress. It's not the dress's fault, it's mine. Vanity and social insecurities, just wonderful. I'm really pushing myself for improvement, hey?
|JULIETTE HOGAN. SEE? NOT THE DRESS'S FAULT. I AM WEARING IT WITH MORE SLIP AND MORE PUDGE.|