anticipating bad behaviour (the good kind) (sort of)

Last wedding of the season for me this weekend.  R is getting hitched to A.  R + P met in 6^th form (as they called it, back in the days of yore in ye olde high school) and caused general hijinks for years following.  R was P’s best man, P is R’s best man.  This means that I’m sitting at a table of wives/girlfriends from the bridal party, plus a few assorted other interesting folks, including a guy by the name of Irish Rob, because (congratulations, aren’t you CLEVER) he’s from Ireland.  I shall get gloriously tiddly with Irish Rob and the WAGS and we will be vaguely obnoxious while wearing pretty, pretty things.  Maybe I will cry at bit during the ceremony.  The bride will be beautiful.  Weddings, aren’t they lovely?

This one is the whole she-bang, too.  Upwards of 150 guests, formal attire (you know I’m wearing the same summery dress anyway, right?  It brings that thing down to about $100 per wear which is still horrendous to contemplate), church-y bit etc etc.  An old boss of mine is the uncle of the groom (this is New Zealand, of course.  Dad recently did the 2 degrees of separation trick in Bonn with some Kiwi he’d just met and within a couple of questions had worked out that the new acquaintance used to work in a former government ministry with a friend of mine from university who Dad basically adores), so that’ll be odd/nice. 

I better go find some new, respectable, only slightly-whore-y shoes in my lunch break today…except FFFFFF today’s the day we’re paying off P’s student loan!!!  The millstone hanging around our necks is finally going!  YAYAYAYAYAY – except it leaves us with basically nada in the coffers for the next wee while (spesh with this house purchase palaver going on).   OH WELL will wear the $20 shoes that gave me allergic reactions and are basically deteriorating within 2 wears (but they’re cute! $10 a wear at the moment, if I wear them tomorrow we’re down to $6.66 a wear!).

HOUSES.  HOUSE HOUSE HOUSE HOUSE do you love these???? (you better.  I will hear nothing nasty)

TURN OF THE CENTURY CUTENESS, NO? YES! YES!

I WILL GROW WISTERIA ALL OVER THE VERANDAH AND YOU SHOULD SEE THE BACKYARD AND I LOVE IT AND I WANT IT AND IT'S PROBABLY DAMP AND COLD AND UNINSULATED AND I CARE NOT I WILL JUST BUY MORE SOCKS

OH YEAH and the girls from work are having a BYO tonight at a Thai restaurant in Ponsonby. UH-OH SPAGHETTI-O!

(why yes, my much improved (somewhat manic mood) must be because my soul is shriven! I apologised to P! Who is taking steps to fix the problem!)

(Also, I resigned from my job in Blighty a year ago.  Feels like forever or the blink of an eye.  I shall write a post about the change, no doubt, entitled something like "London, I Love Thee, But I Did The Right Thing".)

shivery

Current bane of my existence: workplace air-conditioning.  It is twenty-something degrees outside, yet I’m sitting here in jeans (casual Friday!), top, blazer and full coverage shoes, shivering.  I’ve tried to get the building manager to turn it up but apparently the sensor in my office has a warped sense of humour and pushes it right back down again.  (Yes, privileged office professional first world woe.)

I don’t think I’m one of those too-cold girls.  I mean, last night I resented having to pull up the sheet to keep the mosquitoes off my tasty, prone carcass.  I adore an excuse to cuddle up under a rug on the couch but inevitably push it off, sticky, clammy and overheated.  So no, I don’t think the problem is mine (certainly its mine in that I am currently too cold; but not mine in that I am not the source). 

 

On re-reading that first paragraph, I had a vision of an equestrienne attired woman in the workplace.  Rest assured, you did read 'jeans' and not 'jodphurs', and there is no helmet topping my blazer combo.  Though, to be sure, there are small shoulder pads in the blazer...it's not an 80s throwback thing, I swears it -- more a Looking-Less-Round-Shouldered-Technique.  Us statuesque women (those over say 5'8 or 5'9) can pull off the blazer look, I promise.  Oh for fuckssakes, I probably can't pull it off but I don't care.  It's warm.

 

And speaking of office attire...I saw three colleagues this morning before the fourth pointed out I was wearing entirely different shoes.  A grey suede wedge on one foot, black leather pump on the other.  When I arrived in the office this morning, I kicked off my jandals and slipped my feet into shoes under the desk without looking.  HOPELESS.  I'm still not sure if any of the others actually noticed and just thought I was crazy, or whether they were still in need of caffeine and therefore incapable of picking up on detail. 

 

Wearing two different shoes feels a bit like that usual romcom/teen novel trope, doesn't it?  You know, the one where the otherwise smart, lovely and likeable heroine is clumsy and/or scatterbrained about everyday life.  Except let me just be clear: two shoes in two different colours, styles and heights?  That's just goddamned useless, that's what that is.  Trust me, it's not a  quirky-yet-endearing character flaw.  It's just obliviousness. 

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I’m generating a little heat snickering at this: my thing of the day for you.  Good God, Lemon!

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It's my mother's birthday today.  Happy birthday, Mumble dear.  Many happy returns.