The One Where Sam Gets Stood Up

Another lonely day, momentarialy relieved by speaking with my sister. Actually, it's only been lonely now that I'm in a tapas bar, alone surrounded by couples and families. I've caught quite a few people glancing at me without greeting. Oh that great frightening beast: the attractive woman dining alone. Nothing garners pity faster than that. It reminded me of that Sex and the City episode when Samantha gets stood up in a restaurant without anything to read and Carrie finally saves the day by discussing all of the things that women aren't "supposed to do" alone which are a big load of hooey, because if I couldn't go to dinner by myself, I'd have starved to death long ago. And we all know how I feel about starving.

I woke today and finally went back to my old routine. Almost. I cleaned the kitchen and living room after being mortified last night, when Flatmate Suzie brought people home from a party, at how bad it had gotten. When you feel embarrassed by your house Friday night at 2AM, in the company of well toasted bar goers, it's time to do something. So clean I did. And then I hopped a bus to Barnie's. (These are the men I spend most of my time with. I go to bed with Harry (Potter) and have breakfast at Barnie's (coffeehouse) Is it infedelity if neither one is a real person?) I ordered and the kid behind the counter commented on how it was nice to see me, I hadn't been in for awhile, how was Christmas, did I go home, etc... It was both sweet and heartwrenching. Sweet of him, heartwrenching for me that my coffee house notices my absence in less than a month. I need a life, me thinks. Anyway, after a leisurely coffee and newspaper, I took to Henry Street for some shopping, enticed by the 25 euro shoes at Clarke's I'd spotted the other day. Said shoes, however, sold out in my size all over town. Sigh... Also sold out, in my choice of colour that is, the perfect Italian shoes at Arnott's I fought against buying just before leaving for Italy this summer, which are now half price if you want the brown and shit-yellow suede. Mind you, I did run a imaginary colour wheel over them to see if they could be versitile and if I was just being persnickety. They aren't and I'm not. About that anyway. I did however spot a divine pair of red leather knee high boots with a "Don't Mess with Me" pointy toe and a heel that will someday be used as a weapon. It's a movie cliche waiting to happen, I tell you. Sadly, at half price they were still 175 euro, way out of my budget or I'd already own the perfect Italian shoes in malt brown suede and not be trying to match sick-baby-poop-yellow to clothing I (thankfully) don't own.

After much wandering around and several lectures with myself about not rushing because I really had nothing else that needed doing, I did something I never thought I'd do. Indeed, I'd never set out to do so, which thereby doubles my own suprise: I proved Trinny and Susannah right. I actually giggled. It turns out that I tried on a pair of denims (jeans) that were on clearance because 1- it's post-Christmas which means it's Pre-Spring and the sales floor needs to be cleared for new stock we simply "must have" and 2- Kate Moss is far too skinny.

I tried on wide-legged jeans, which are verbotten here because Ms. Moss favours painted on denim stuffed into tall boots suitable only to women who weigh slightly less than a grain of rice. And in this area of the world? She rules the fashion universe. I wasn't happy with the width of the leg initially and took them off. As follows, I put my own skinny pair of jeans back on and thunder sounded. (Incidently, why is it the term is 'thunderstruck'? Lightening strikes. Thunder sounds. Someone should tell AC/DC) I look terrible in skinny jeans. Because I have hips, big child-bearing hips. And I weigh slightly more than a sack of rice. Being pear shaped (as in the fruit, not the Irish equilivant of 'all things going to hell') ((although...)) I need a wider leg to balance my body, which in turn makes me look slimmer and more elegant. Even in jeans. Which I bought. This is their gospel. Love them or hate them, Trinny and Suze are right about one thing: dress for your body type. Not the body you want, or the one you used to have; not the one the fashion industry and trashy women's magazines tell you is ideal and gauranteed to get you mind-blowing sex with any gentleman admirer you happen to chance upon. Your unique body. I look terrible in everything currently featured in those magazines. I'm terribly un-hip and hopelessly out of fashion. But, in going against the grain, I looked good. And THAT is all that matters.