"Shouldn't you have left for work?" I ask Francis.
"Told them I'd be late."
"Excuse?"
"Sardines on the line at Crewe."
"Just two points. First, we don't live anywhere near Crewe. Second, you drive to work."
"Ah, yes, but the sardines don't know that, do they?"
Feeling either that I'm very stupid or, more likely, that Francis spent too long studying the surrealist pieces at the art show we went to and is entering his mid-life melting clocks phase with a vengeance, I abandon this conversational thread in favour of swearing as I try to mount my trusty bicycle, without any significant success.
"Stay right there," calls Francis. "I want to come and watch."
It would be touching, this spouse to spouse farewell ritual, were it not for the fact that I know Francis is only here because he wants to see whether it's possible for me to cycle anywhere in my ersatz 80s power dressing outfit, and make sure nobody can look up my skirt while I'm doing it.
"I don't think that Alice band is doing you any favours," he says.
"Deborah lent it to me," I explain.
"It's too small and it keeps slipping down over your eyes. Mind you, if Sasha has a thing about Star Trek you'll be fine - you've got a distinct resemblance to that blind engineer chap La Forge. Though I'm not sure about what looks like the output of an entire viscose factory round your chest or the swirly skirt. And what are those lumps on your arms?"
"I've got a shoulder pad slippage issue," I say.
"Forget Star Trek. You look more like a pirate auditioning undercover parrots, one at a time."
"If you keep going on like that, I swear that if I get my hands on a phaser, I'll put it straight on the castrate setting, even if it does run counter to the message of peaceful missions of discovery. Now beam me up onto my saddle. I'm heading into the alien zone."
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17 comments:
OM,
If the shoulder pads keep jamming in the wheel spokes, go home and change into that other 1980s classic - the Linda Lusardi leisure suit.
Best of luck - I think you're going to need it.
Mya x
Francis sounds as cruel and heartless as my Darling Husband.
How lucky they are that we tolerate their wit and 'compliments'. I find threatening DH with the chain saw quite successful, would you like to borrow it?
Just get the shoulder pads implanted under your skin, OM. That way, if the slip, you will either look like you have been at Madonna's pilates classes for shoulders, or that you have had a very perky boob job. It's a win-win situation...
Mya: I've got an Ebay watch on two LL classics as a result of your advice. Small children will flinch.
FintheF: It's all down to the corroding influence of Top Gear.
Potty Mummy: Thank heavens I have my blog chums to come up with figure-enhancing tips just in the nick of time. I have cancelled the Ebay watch on Linda Lusardi (see Mya's comment) and plan to kidnap a plastic surgeon instead, driving him mad with my flabby body parts until he agrees to do the surgery for free.
Ach, yes, the shoulder pad issues. Unless sewn in place properly they do have a tendency to migrate to the biceps or the armpits, on occasion, even to the shoulder blades.
But they are also handy as fillers for your push up bra, to give you more cleavage and work splendidly when your shoes need a quick shine and you have nothing else handy.
The real problem arises when they become mismatched and you leave the house with slightly unbalanced shoulders, making you look like the hunchback of the Notre Dame.
We naturally broad shouldered women don't need to add shoulder pads, because if we do, we look like Sumo wrestlers and nobody takes us seriously, so you could say that is too much of a good thing.
And then, you really look ridiculous when you also have princess sleeves, adding insult to injury and making the ultimate faux pas in dressing up.
Of course, you, Omega Mum of the wise dressing sense, would never do anything so silly and will soon abandon this 80s power dressing and follow the ultimate latest trends in fashion as set by such great designers as Christian Dior and Dolce & Gabbana, who hopefully will have the sense to see the 80s for what they were, namely the hideous Thatcher years when every woman dressed like a power hungry monkey.
Just keep your eye out for errant shoulder pads. A friend (actually Drunk Mummy, erstwhile blogger) was in a business meeting in the 80's, wearing the requisite power suit plus shoulder pads, which were dangerously secured by jamming them under each bra strap. She gesticulated dramatically at one point and a pad came flying out the end of the sleeve. Everyone thought it was a bat!
"Phaser on castrate setting" - ouch! I'll now always think of that when I watch Star Trek . . .
And, ooo thanks, do put me on your blogroll, smeared in Marmite, if you so wish.
Keep the shoulder pads flying OM! And after all, what would Francis know about real life, trapped as he is in his little virtual world of - well, SARDINES FOR G's SAKE!
Thanks for visiting me btw. I tried to reply to you there, but Blogger has evidently got it in for me now that I no longer post instalments...
OM
Alice bands are very cool, whether they fall down or not.
Smov x
Smov: Nice to see you here - and your comments are music to my ears (and eyes, given my current Alice band positioning).
IB: Blogger clearly becoming Orwellian in approach - no doubt shortly to become a Ministry of compulsory blogging. I agree that the sardines may be constricting Francis' views. We will need to have it out at some point - but it is a job.....
Dumdad: Just toasting the bread now. Consider yourself smothered. Promise to pack away the phaser when I come over to yours.
Sweet I: You have a touching faith in my dress sense and I will attempt to live up to it....promise
Expat Mum: Love the story! Made me laugh a lot.
I need a bit of background info here (either that, or I'll have to read your entire blog archive, which, though tempting, and something I'd enjoy doing in my own good time, is not an option for today - school closed because of snow and bored kids at home). What exactly is Francis' job?
Iota: Don't bother with the archives. Not worth it, honestly and I should know - I wrote them. Francis took the first job that came along when he lost his old one. It's not ideal - working for a health and beauty company and involving a lengthy commute each day. But he's got into some sort of Omega 3 research project which involves prolonged sardine/oily fish stuff. I don't really understand it, except that it allows me to make cheap jokes about fish, and that's always a bonus on this blog, at least. Well, for me, though possibly not for its readers.
Aha. Yes. It was the jokes about fish that I was wondering about.
Lordy, lordy...
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