On Saturday I had tickets to see Beauty and the Beast with a friend. Now, mostly I said yes to going because I like this friend and wanted to spend some time with her, the show itself didn't really interest me that much. Also I'll jump at an invitation for anything because having worked from home all week, come the weekend I want to get out.
My company had to bail at the last minute which left me with a mission: either get rid of both tickets, get rid of the extra, or find someone else to go with me. Z2 was my only option, but he made it clear he'd rather stick hot pins in his eyes than sit through the show with me. After being showered with refusals from everyone I knew, I tried my luck at the Badminton Theatre and waited.
And waited. And waited. While I was waiting, I noticed how nicely dressed some of the children were. Then I looked around. There was not one badly dressed child there. They all looked like pictures out of a catalogue. Raising my eyes above floor level I was horribly reminded that I live in Greece, where the women dress to kill come what may. And there I was with helmet hair, dressed like trash. I made an observation - not one single other female there was wearing sports shoes, and hundreds must have passed me as I loitered trying to get rid of my tickets. Hundreds of women, wearing good shoes. I bet they didn't even own a pair of runners.
I don't know why I keep forgeting to make an effort when I step out and then end up feeling hideously out of place. This for me was a disaster. My own lack of style is one issue, but obviously people dress their kids here at the very cutting edge of fashion. My future children are doomed, I tell you.
"You know those kids, the slightly dark ones?"
"Those kids, you know them, they have a foreign mother."
"Several kids at this school have a foreign mother."
"Yes but it's those kids, the really badly dressed ones."
"Ooooh now I know who you're talking about."
As it hit showtime I gave up and took my seat plus spread all my stuff over the spare. Actually I can think of worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon than reliving childhood memories of that moment of excitement in the Home Country when our mother would come back from the video store and wave a very badly pirated copy of the latest Disney cartoon infront of us. At least I knew all the songs.
But I can't escape the fact that the money I spent on those tickets should probably have been spent shopping for Greek lady wardrobe staples such as:
1) Several very tight turtle neck tops (current ownership: 1)
2) A gillet (current ownership: 0)
3) Several pairs of boots (current ownership: 1)
4) A few jersey dresses, knee length (current ownership: 0)
5) Bug-eye glasses (current ownership: 0)
It would be okay if I had a unique sense of style which looked good, because I don't really want to turn into a drone who looks like everyone else. But my own sense of 'style' can't even be called that. I just want to not be given that "bloody hell!" once-over the other women give me, I'm scared of them, remember. Tips, anyone?