And you’re sure that Lady Gaga buys her underwear from La Senza?

Sooo, this week one of my oldest chums (I mean this in the sense that I’ve known her for about 20 years, not that she’s old.  Although she is 6 whole weeks older than me) celebrated her 26th birthday.  With a Lady Gaga themed birthday party.  Which meant that her house was liberally decorated with posters, we played Gaga tunes, and such.  Oh, and everyone had to dress up.  My friend, who I will simply refer to as Legs (because her pins go on for, literally, miles) had no problem costume wise.  Nor did her (similarly proportioned) cousins, or our other, teeny-tiny, friends.  As a slightly larger girl (size 12/14, in case you were wondering), I didn’t relish the prospect of working out an outfit (seriously, how many people do you know that look good wrapped in hazard tape?), then it dawned on me that I can’t buy clothes.  And apparently, after a quick poll of the (mean) girls in the office/The Boy/Darling Sister, I discovered that fancy dress outfits come under the heading ‘clothes’.  Quick side note – do wigs count?  They thought yes, but I’m unsure.  For the rest of this experiment, I would like to be able to buy a wig, should I decide that one is necessary – all the other girls had them last night, and I felt that I was letting the side down.  Because I was letting the side down.

Rummaging through my wardrobe, it became clear that I have nothing that resembles a leotard (except for a swimming costume, and…just no.), or one of the crazy get ups that the Gaga has become known for.  So, I borrowed The Boy’s laptop, and googled ‘Lady Gaga outfits’, and there she was, resplendent in a fetching bra and pencil skirt number, with ridiculous shoes and ‘cupid bow’ lipstick (like Geisha girls’ lipstick).  In all the excitement at finding an outfit that I could actually put together from the random bits and pieces lurking in my room, I forgot that I was essentially going out in my bra.  Less Agent Provocateur, more La Senza (or, if I’m honest, Primark).  I asked my Lovely Mum for advice, and her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when I showed her the outfit.  I assured her that I was going to be staying in Legs’ house for the whole evening, and that I was going to beg to be allowed to put a top on at the earliest opportunity.  So I moved onto my lipstick, which took 5 attempts and looked ridiculous (plus, I did it before Burlesque, so I creeped out Lola on top of everything else – every time she turned round, she saw my lips.  And they looked ruddy strange). 

So, after my Burlesque lesson (this week we experimented with hats – amazing), I popped over to Legs’ house, and ran to the bathroom to get changed.  On the way, I just had time to glance at the other Gaga outfits, and to feel completely inadequate.  And fat.  Anyhoo, I was getting changed, and overheard 2 Gagas talking about going into town.  I’m sorry, TOWN?!  Dressed like this?!  I contemplated staying in the bathroom until everyone had left and I could sneak back to the car under the cover of darkness, but I could hear a queue forming, with comments such as ‘I have to get in there soon, as it’s going to take at least half an hour for me to find my pants.’  (*Disclaimer – I don’t think that this phrase was actually uttered, I’m paraphrasing/making things up.)

I walked out of the bathroom to a massive cheer.  Which was nice.  And possibly due to people’s bursting bladders, as much as them being pleased to see me.  Lots of photo taking ensued, with me trying to hide in the background and give Poker Face Gaga more photo opportunities, but I kept getting dragged to the front, which I’m not sure the millions of Facebook users will thank my friends for (especially when you see Poker Face Gaga.  She looked HOT).

There are also many photos of me teaching Legs some Burlesque moves.  And of her teaching me some MC Hammer moves.  It was a truly special moment, which I am THRILLED has been caught on camera for all eternity.  Honestly, thrilled.

Eventually we made it out of the house, with much giggling and such.  Once we got to town, I got out of the car and put my sunglasses on, to give my outfit more of a Gagaesque feel (I was really feeling the lack of wig), and promptly fell over.  Some would say that I should have seen that coming, what with it being 11 at night and already pitch black…I’d also managed to sneak a vest top on over my bra at this point (did I mention that I was completely, 100% sober?  Because of my diet, I can’t drink.  The idea of going into town in just my bra would probably have seemed more appealing had I swallowed half a litre of vodka, but as it was, I had visions of the bouncers taking one look at me, crying at me to go home and then running for the hills, being found months later, rocking, gibbering wrecks.  So I took advantage of the darkness/everyone else’s tipsiness, told them that I was going to move some stuff from my car’s backseat to the boot, and rummaged around for any sort of top.  Sometimes it pays to have an extended wardrobe in the car.  Not all the time, but sometimes.), and strutted to the bar with the other girls.  We were there for approximately 4 seconds before I heard the first bitchy comment about our group.  I don’t want to say that the girl was jealous, but with the exception of my good self, the girls looked stunning, and I would like to look like them all when I grow up (or, more accurately, shrink down), and, you know, she had a funny face.  (Actually, she didn’t, but she started it.)

It was a brilliant night, marred only by the fact that I lost feeling in my feet about 16 minutes into our trip to town.  And the other girls all smoked, so I spent a lot of time with Darling Sister (who was out with one of her chums), who were not dressed up.  So I looked like a fool.

In conclusion, fancy dress parties should never be attended unless you can purchase your outfit in advance.  And Lady Gaga fancy dress parties should never be attended unless you’re a size 8/10.  At least the Birthday Girl had a good night, and the photos aren’t up on the internet…oh.  Bother.  Well, at least the Birthday Girl had a good night.


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