by Bron | December 28, 2012 7:22 pm
Every now and then, I topple over and twist my ankle. Sometimes it’s because I’ve had too much to drink and my heels are too high and my husband is too far away for me to balance against him.
Sometimes it’s because I’m making like Elle Macpherson and jogging on the beach in a bikini and go A over T in a hole in the sand.
Sometimes I am just walking down the street minding my own business and over I go. My husband always tells me not to walk and text at the same time.
The result of this constant clumsiness is that my ankle invariably ends up tightly bandaged in this stretchy crepe material for a few days.
And on Christmas Day, at the buffet lunch at the Gold Coast casino, I found out that the same stretchy stuff is now being used for dresses.
Or so it appeared.
And, in my humble opinion, that stretchy crepe stuff looks better wrapped around my bung foot than around their tiny bums.
Christmas lunch was for 1000 people and at least 100 of them were young women, aged 18 to 22, wearing these so-called bandage dresses that really didn’t cover their bum cheeks, and heels that were about 6-7 inches high (that’s a bit more than 15 centimetres for Gen Y) with 1-2 inch platforms. All had peep-toes, all had the requisite French pedicure (a look I personally despise) and all were spray-tanned to within an inch of their orange lives.
My husband and I were sitting quite close to the buffet table so we were able to witness their movements first-hand.
I don’t think there was a g-string in the place. From some of the glimpses these girls were giving, I actually thought there’d be a lot more gynaecologists. But maybe I’m showing my age.
They walked up to the buffet in those impossible heels, knees bent, lurching forward – classic pose for anyone who can’t walk effectively in heels. Watch any movie with Julia Roberts and you’ll understand what I mean.
They pulled their skirt down, picked up a plate, pulled their skirt down with their free hand, swapped the plate into their other hand, pulled the other side of their skirt down.
The leaned over to get a prawn, pulled their skirt down, got some potato salad, pulled their skirt down, shifted their weight from one foot to the other to gain that millisecond of relief from the aching pressure of their shoes, and pulled down their skirt.
It’s a good thing the drinks were table service so we didn’t have to watch them trying to carry their blue Vodka Cruisers and Skinny Bitches while pulling their skirt down.
As 3pm approached, and lunch was nearly over, we watched a scene reminiscent of every Melbourne Cup, Schoolies, New Year’s Eve and hens night. Pissy girls in skirts too short clutching their ridiculous shoes in their hand and hanging onto their girlfriends for support.
Here’s the thing. These girls don’t know how truly beautiful they are. What they need to do is ditch the fake tan, take out the hair extensions, put down the bottle of foundation and cover their butt. They have figures to die for, a glow of youth, and a freshness we womenfolk approaching 50 didn’t realise we once had until we started approaching 50.
I didn’t see any of the boys suffering these problems. They were trying to skull Crown Lagers, eat 5kg of prawns and remember to put their thongs on before they went back to the buffet table for thirds. They wore board shorts, over-sized t-shirts with a random offensive message and hairstyles that would make even Justin Bieber baulk.
Girls, you’re beautiful, and if the boys don’t think you are, they lose, not you. There’s plenty of time when you’re older and more mature to wear the sexy gear and the high heels and pull it off with class.
Don’t hurry things up. You’ll be a woman soon. Trust me, I’ve been there.
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