I suffered emotional trauma yesterday. It wasn't the kind of emotional trauma where I was provoked into giving up food again although I did pray so hard that my trauma would affect my mental stability so severely that I need never eat again. So far this has not been the case. This trauma was more of a tapped in polyester nightmare. I bought a snazzy little number for Lil Red to wear for teh party. This bad boy was pure polyester heaven with a silky cheap, spit through, feel about it and coloured black and shiny silver. NOt only did this creation come complete with shoulder pads but it also had a wrap around effect around teh front which made it look like a cross between a ballet cradigan and a gypsy fril (argh they torment me so). Alexis Colby would have been proud. Being bored at the office I felt it my duty to entertain the troops by putting it on before the boss came back from lunch to witness such a spectacle. The shoulder pads clearly made the blouse look generous in size and as I puffed and panted in an awful manner I finally managed to squeeze my not so heaving bussoms into this rather slender tacky housewife xmas getup. I strutted my stuff through the office with whoops and cheers all round an generally made the day less dull. I thought I looked quite swanky and was just parading catwalk style when I hear the click of the boss's office door. I'm thrown into a wild panic, being that I'm on my last warning for frivolous and annoying behaviour, and I rush off to the adjoining filing room to remove the utterly offensive garment that caused such vocal hilarity. I tried everything to get the blouse off but nothing would work. I tried even shuffling it downward so I could try and slip my fat ass out of it but it snagged on my hips. I tried to undo the wrap around I was horrified to discover it was all joined on! I then tried to raise it over my head but it was wedged tight and as soon as I lifted my arms I knew it was a mistake. the more I struggled the tighter it became adn my arms were stuck upwards. The stress and the panic was almost too much and as I stood there close to tears and in bitter pain, the boss walks in. There was nothing I could do to make matters any worse or any better and what a sight I must have looked. Face all twisted like I was suppressing a fart, hideous blouse all scrunched up and sweat still managing to trickle out of somewhere. And so I said nothing. Just stood there motionless waiting for a tirade or a sacking, none of which I received. The boss merely smirked and remarked how he'd like to see my blouse make an appearance at the xmas night out and if not, then
there might be a sacking. OH how cruel and oh how undignified I am going to look amongst all the ladies with their satin numbers and floral prints. Oh fuck, I think I will fit right in. The relief at no sacking was short lived as I still remained packed into this blouse. I felt a rip down both sides but I still couldn't move. I had to get one lady and her friend to cut me out! I felt like I should be in an emergency room and with the amounts of skin that I lost in the fight I really could have been. That'll teach me to wear clothes worse than my gran would I tell you. And with the disappointment that this now unwearable blouse caused I had to make up for it somehow. I bought a bumbag. In all its puma, leather, flourescent glory. Nuff said.