An Unfortunate Dress Incident

EVERYTIME things go terribly wrong for me, I console myself by thinking that it could've been a worse situation - like, if my car breaks down at a petrol station, I'd thank God with a relieved sigh, because it'd be much harder to get help if the old Vitara died on me on a dark, desserted highway, with very little or no mobile signal at all. Fluttery, long-lashes or not, I know, through experience, that it's not easy to get help from complete strangers to jump-start a stalled car even at a petrol station full of people, who may seem like caring Malaysians. While I've had kind strangers offering help during emegencies, most are just plain selfish. It's sad, really.

Though it wasn't car trouble this time, last Friday was a testing day. It was a working day, I was getting from one place to another, and in between that, I bought a black, babydoll dress I thought was nice and decent, for a Christmas party I was invited to in the evening. I desperately needed one because most dresses in my wardrobe are either too small to fit me anymore, too long to be worn without heels, or too low-cut for a family Christmas party at my friend, Henrietta's home. Henrietta is a nice lady, whom I have befriended over the months at my jewellery-making class.

I bought the dress(below, left) and ran to a friend's house, nearest to my office, to iron it (as I wouldn't be able to run back home in the evening to do it). Five mins into ironing, a sizzle, and I've burnt the dress - totally ruined at the lower back! Silly me for taking two minutes off to play with my friend's sleepy, sugar glider. What's done is done, so I let out a frustated scream, and consoled myself. The next option was my black-and-white chiffon silk dress (below, right) that I've had for a few years now. On second thoughts, it was still a low cut, so I went back and bought the same dress again! Crazy, I know, but I desperately needed it.
 

Henrietta's home is a unit at a luxury condo in Mont Kiara. It's a huge and tastefully decorated place, pretty much like the ones you see in ID magazines. Colour-coordinated in shades of red, black, white and grey, the interior bears a minimalist concept. A real, clutter-free home in its decorations, but, I guess when you have a luxurious 3,700sq feet of space to deal with, it's easy to keep things seem clutter-free.

So while taking a step to admire the out-of-a-magazine home, a guest walked into me, and I spilled the entire glass of the red I was holding onto my black dress! The poor woman and her husband, apologised profusely, but I was just too glad I had bought the dress and decided against the optional black-and-white! I was strangely relieved, while the couple continued apologising, despite my broad smile. I felt fortunate to be in the black dress. The stain didn't show, and, in spite of a wet bra, I was able to enjoy the rest of the evening.  


Reds and Whites 

I relaxed at Henrietta's eight-seater, dining table, listening to a wide-eyed, business lady relentlessly talk about older men's vitality, which, she measured by their aiming abilities when they peed. Then, there was a chief executive officer of a boutique hospital, who believed I should know about the good works of the practice, a dentist who advised me to retain my unfallen baby teeth instead of extracting them, a doctor who was clearly upset about ambulance service inefficiency in the city, and, a woman who spoke of nothing but her life and routine.

By the end of the evening, my wine-soaked bra had dried.
:)