Why I hate dresses

Another family wedding to go to on Friday. Despite being single and, at times, embittered, I love weddings. I love weddings involving my family most of all. It's a guarantee that by the end of the evening someone will end up crying in the loos, someone will have to go home early because they haven't paced themselves, someone will have fallen over and flashed their knickers, every female present will have long ago discarded their crippling shoes somewhere on the dance floor and people will be drinking Courvoisier because there will be nothing else left behind the bar.

The thing is I can never get the outfit right. I always end up feeling uncomfortable, hemmed in, tummy control knickers cutting off my circulation. I bought a great dress two months ago but, because of exercise and dieting, it now resembles a beige sack. I have spent the last two days traipsing around the shops and sobbing in stuffy dressing rooms and have come up empty handed. I have decided to wear the beige sack anyway. At least it won't be too tight for a change and it won't matter once I've downed a few glasses of wine.

There's a reason they call it retail therapy.

Most of the time it's the money that matters. The rent, the mortgage and the bills. Clothes and adornments are not so important as there's a much bigger picture surrounding you. In quiet moments a little bitterness creeps in as you ponder the boots you've been silently coveting for a couple of months, unable to justify the expense but the soul is consoled by the thought of the romance of your existence; the cottage, the wooden beams, the lovely man, the future you will have and suddenly the sacrifice is not so huge really.

However, when said Lovely Bloke decides the grass is greener elsewhere, the cottage starts to crumble around your ears due to neglectful landlords and the future is spirited away before it really had a chance to begin, then, the clothes and nice things Really Matter. Hence the lovely Coast dress, a vintage Jigsaw bolero and sea green beads from Noa Noa. I see your disapproving look but I'm making up for 5 years of martyred abstinence here and there's still a long way to go.