So I have been charged with a mission to find my own costume for the play. OK, fine, that’s fine – usually I much prefer it if someone threw some antiquated gown at me and said, ‘Wear this, you’ll look excellent, all historical and stuff’ but this play is set in modern times so I’d look like a loon in a crinoline and corset.
And, here’s the trickier part – I need to look shmexy.
Shmexy is a word I just made up. It means ‘sexy but in a totally saucy and non-pornographic way’ which INSTANTLY rules out my entire wardrobe, which for the sake of argument, is ENTIRELY pornographic. Or not. Depending on whether you believe me.
I don’t have shmexy clothes. I have comfortable clothes. I have clothes that cover me from neck to toe. I generally wear thick black tights with these clothes, to cover me up some more. In summer it’s a bit hot, true, but if Goths can do it, so can I. How the heck can I dress shmexual for this play? I have not felt shmexy for a LONG time. I have forgotten how to do it. Is it all short skirts and bras showing like when I was 17? Or tight jeans and no bras like when I was 25? Or is it all crotchless panties and nipple tassels now? Like on, er, MTV?
I had a starting point. Some shmexy shoes. Black, patent leather court shoes with a 4 inch heel. I could barely walk in them. Shmexy, it seems, is stumbling around like an addled foal. But I’ve been practising – every rehearsal – and now I can trot quite successfully. I have even developed a wiggle.
And, wiggle fans, it gets better. I have a skirt. Not short. Well, short-ish. But it is tight. A tight, high-waisted pencil skirt in slate grey tweed. That. Plus the shoes. A hint of shmexy.
Today I completed my mission. I went to the shops, baby daughter in tow, and bought a padded, push-up bra (FYI, my boobs look GINORMOUS in it. I will have to recalibrate my balance and engage the shock absorbers) and a filmy, see-through, pussy-bow blouse, in a dark spotted print. Then I got home, baby daughter in tow, and tried it all on.
And indeed, SHMEXY.
I look like a FOX. I have a waist. I have boobs. I have legs. I am going to fucking RULE THE PLANET, my friends. The effect was so potent, a pigeon flew into the wall outside my house, there was a rumble of thunder, and somewhere nearby I heard a wolf howl in pure lust.
I had to immediately disrobe and put on some sloppy jeans and a baggy jumper. For the sake of mankind.
What’s that? Photos, you say? Ah, bien sur, but only after the performance. It’s bad luck, innit. (I don’t know. It may not be. I am not superstitious)
But for now, I am going to revel in finding some long-lost shmexiness. I feel energised. Ready. Willing. Vamped up.
And really really really really really nervous about the performances next week. More on that another time. Till tomorrow, m’dears.
A spooky Moo-based Halloween treat. For those wondering, she’s a tiger witch. Of course. That is a thing. It totally exists. Nothing to do with not being able to find a witches’ hat small enough for her head. Nope.