Kitty Chat

I’ve been invited to a cocktail party on Saturday…

Now normally, had this happened in the USA, I would be the one behind the bar, since I used to get quite a few jobs as a ‘Rent-a-Bartender’ when I was working at NECI. Fabulous part-time thing, really. The client paid you directly and you could take all the bumpf you needed from the school. I had my own ‘kit’ that I had sourced out and purchased myself that I brought with me, to insure I had what I needed, (and, most importantly, it was clean and in working order.) However, because of the connection with the school, for instance, when I did the private Kentucky Derby Party every year, it meant I could order fresh mint, lemons, oranges, etc wholesale, then just get the client to cover the bill directly with the school. You meet with the client beforehand, suggest to them what to buy in alcohol-wise, the school has already arranged any food they might need, and you just show up, set out the food, set up your bar and have fun!

Oh man! And the TIPS!!! If I remember correctly, we got $15-20 per hour with a minimum 3-hour contract, plus travel. But, I would make possibly five times or more than that in (undeclared) tips. Sweet. But… that’s the American mindset; you tip for good service as service people (still) get lower wages than minimum to account for the fact they receive gratuities. 10 percent is the service is adequate up to 20 percent (or more) if it’s outstanding.

Anyway, back to this Cocktail Party… I have absolutely NOTHING to wear.

Now, I am not declaring this as I stalk back-and-forth in front of my fabulously arranged wardrobe, gazing at my racks of silks, linens and rayon (dry-clean only) clothing; suits, dresses, skirts, blouses in different colour-ways, as my French-manicured piggies sink into the plush pile carpet.

No. I say this as I sit on the wooden floor in front of my one rather pathetic garment bag as I look over my lovely Liz Claiborne and etc silks, linens and rayon… all in a size much, much smaller than my current flesh will fit. (It’s true, I have dragged this ONE Blue Samsonite Garment bag with me everywhere since 1984 or so. OK, I dragged the navy ballistic cloth Tumi bags and the Grey Tapestry French ensemble, as well. If nothing else, I still have nice luggage.)

Yes, folks, time to come clean, Kitty got fat… again. OK, not AS fat as I WAS, but, I certainly packed on the pounds when my world fell apart and I stopped posting here on Kitty Chat. Kinda retreated into myself and, well, ok… I had a nervous breakdown.

I’m not saying this for sympathy, I’m just being straight and saying… I screwed up. I let events happening around me take over; I forgot I had a spine and should use it. I also didn’t know how cruel and despicable certain people can be to their fellow humans. Long story, and yes, I WILL get around to telling it, eventually. Just not now, I am too busy recuperating.

NEVERTHELESS... the HUGE point of all this fretting is… I can’t fit into anything anymore. And even though I HAVE lost 10kgs over the last month or so, it goes nowhere into getting me into that luscious peacock blue silk dress I love. Oh! Or alternatively... the daring, plunging neckline/cleavage (baby!) one that is in a turquoise silk that does stuff to my hair colour that should be outlawed it’s so damn sexy.

If I was the bloody bartender, I could wear my nice black raw silk slacks, that white silk blouse, my black ‘pinny’… and a bow tie. But, nooooo…. I need to wear a DRESS, something that will show my lumpy and distorted legs. I’ll have to go with long length so just my shoe-clad feet peep out. Whatever, I need to make a decision soon; I only have two days to figure it out.

I wish I had a burqa...