The Forum: 'What's a frump to say' by Muffy

From the Web 1.0 days I bring you The Forum. To preserve them for posterity as Geocities cam no longer be found but also it's fun to re-read some of them.

Muffy was an old friend of mine from Brisbane, hence her column title "Brisbane Rantings". I wonder what Muffy (not her really name of course) is doing now and, I have to say, her writing reminds me a lot of Martha's :-)

"What's a frump to say?"
27th September, 2001

My brother is getting married. That’s right. Married. He has met a nice girl, popped the question and it’s all happening. Our family is gearing up for the biggest get-together since our parents’ divorce hearing and lets just hope Dad remembers to wear a suit this time…..

And speaking of Dad wearing a suit, I felt I needed a new frock for the occasion, and since it is such a HAPPY occasion, I was looking forward to the extravagance of a “money is no object once in a lifetime” kind of shopping experiece and here is my question: WHY ARE FORMAL DRESS SHOP DOWAGERS SUCH FUCKING BITCHES?

You’re gathering by now that the adventure didn’t quite live up to my expectations. I’ll admit they were kind of high. I was expecting to find something in the posh frock shop that was both flattering and appropriate. There’s a little more of me to love these days and I didn’t want nasty chain-smoking, rail-thin, stopped-the-carbs-when-I-was-five-why-can’t-you? Aunty Kerry at the wedding poking my corseted tummy and telling me how unlucky I was to have inherited the fat genes. I reasoned that the more money I threw into the posh frock kittty, the better for said garment to allow flab to be passed off with flair.

Well, don't I deserve the "WRONG-GONG"! The haute-couture hag told me in no uncertain terms that the only way money is going to help my figure was if I invested wisely in some fat reassignement surgery - preferably reassigning it to a biological hazard waste bin. What ever happened to the days when shop-girls lied to you in order for you to buy their inordinately expensive and utterly inappropriate garments and move them off the shop floor? Isn't that THEIR JOB?????????

And where does this leave me? Nothing to wear (She cried! She cried!) to this damned inconvenient affair and of course I have left it far to late to struggle off to yet another gym and fork out yet another fortune for yet another personal trainer? (Aside - why does it cost more to eat LESS??????????? One of life's great mysteries........) No amount of reading Cosmo and boning up on "body cofidence" and "sexifying your look" is going to help me at this stage of the game. It's time for desperate measures: I considered phoning my brother and telling him I had chicken pox and didn't want to risk anyone catching it, but I had already infected our entire family when I was eight (at Nasty Aunty Kerry's wedding, and I don't think she's forgotten about that either.....on account of the honeymoon being cut short....) so that's hardly going to work a second time around.....

With only three weeks to go, my situation is dire...........I may just have to ask MUM for some advice.

Stay tuned.......


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