The dressing up box

I went to a party last night. My sweet friend Karin had hit the big five-oh and was celebrating with a fancy dress party with the theme of 'F'. Staying true to my nature, and the fact that I probably had enough kit lying around the house, I decided on a 'fallen fairy'.

Yesterday afternoon I made an excursion up to the attic to retrieve some black wings and a raggy skirt. Just as I was fishing around I spotted a box that hasn't been opened for a long time. Inside there was a collection of clothes that I used to wear years ago, clothes that meant a lot and I couldn't be parted from.
At the bottom was a beloved dress that brought me to tears. It was an original fifties dress that was once my mum's and I think I last wore it when I was about nineteen or twenty. I tried it on.

Not only did it fit but I couldn't take it off again, so with the addition of matching vintage shoes, gloves, and a kelly bag, I backcombed my hair into a modest beehive and then shocked the Feckers into stunned silence!

"Women should dress like that all the time." Big Fecker said.

I should have argued for the rights of the emancipated woman but I tend to agree with him. When did being a bright, intelligent, strong woman mean that you have to wear ugly clothes? My only problem would be the hour it took to get my eyeliner right!

And yes, the party was great and I kept company with some fish fingers, flamenco dancers, a couple of dodgy 'fathers', other fifties, forties and flower powers and a friend who after a few drinks kept falling out of her 'femme fatale' dress. Twas an effing good night!

(So shocked by his mother's appearance, Little Fecker forgets where 'up' is on the camera)


(Big Fecker, if you don't take those ridiculous glasses off I am going to stab you with one of the twenty-eight kirby pins that are holding my hair up)

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