As you can imagine, I do like a good night out.
Hitting the city, all dolled up, with good pals, is the best tonic for a tiring and dreary week.
A few "refreshments" and a pumping dance floor to groove my cares away was very much needed.
I'd even bitten the bullet and gotten my haircut on Friday.( Look, a fringe!)
(I know, I know! Nothing too crazy, but still it took all my courage to even get this done!)
So, on Saturday I'd donned my new to me non-vintage dress from the Waverley Antique Bazaar (ironic huh?), my pretty tights with the seams and bows and the sweetest little
op shopped red cane bag.
And there I was, all plucked and primped, fragrant with Poeme and anticipation, ready to hit the town, when I got the call no gal wants to get.
Sorry! Night out is cancelled!
Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!
And a wee tear rolled down my heavily made up cheek!
Oh, how I had wanted to dance with wild abandon!
Oh, how I had wanted to gas bag and catch up with friends!
Oh, how I had wanted to laugh and giggle and snicker!
And so the pretty, twirly frock came off.
The warpaint came off.
The PJ's were changed into.
And the bag of Maltesers was broken out.
The night wasn't a complete disaster because I finally got to watch some of the horror films I'd been dying to watch. All four of them! Back to back!
And I did have a great day today celebrating Fathers Day with my wonderful Dad and gorgeous hubby, but still, I mourn for the night out that could have been and all the hi-jinks that
were missed out on.
It was lucky that I had snapped these pics of my ensemble before the night fell apart.
Until next time little frock.......
Does anyone else have any sad tales of nights out that never were?