In a hyper passive aggressive manor (aka writing a whole blog post ), I totally asked (as I have for every holiday over the last 700 days) for full length mirror. From this photo, you can see that I will be asking for a mirror for three consecutive Christmases. My only consolation is that if I tumble into the tub and break a leg, Husband is going to have to take care of me. At which time Husband will surely says something like, “What were you doing on the edge of the bathtub in 5" heels? You could just get a normal mirror like a normal person”. Great idea. Now bring me my oatmeal.
Here I am getting dressed for a BBQ. What? You think a dress and heels is a little much for a cookout? Once I would have agreed, but that was before I moved to Italy.
I need to time warp here for a sec. Two years ago, we packed our backpacks and boarded a flight from England to Italy to do a little house hunting. Coming along for the ride were friends I will refer to as “Beauty Queen Barbie” and “Lucky Guy”. Now these two had lived in this exact town not too long ago and had offered to introduce us around. All the stereotypical portrayals of it being about who you know…are true. This is how we ended up at an amazing Italian party. The invitation came to us through Beauty Queen Barbie. She told us it was a, “dress badly party”. Okay. Um, whatever that means. Now Lucky Guy chimes in, “I’m just going to wear this. Italians all think Americans dress badly on a daily basis”. He was wearing a Harley t-shirt and jeans, and not some fancy Italian jeans either. He looked fine to me.
I’m sort of over the top. If a normal person puts up one Christmas tree, I put up four. If a normal person is going to wear jeans and a t-shirt as a costume, I am going to do this (with my these people I met yesterday):
Why do anything half-assed right? We really dressed badly. Mission accomplished. We are amazing.
We show up at the party. We have never met anyone there besides Beauty Queen Barbie and Lucky Guy. Standing at the property gate I get queasy. These people hadn’t heard it was a dress badly party. They all looked malto sexy! The girlfriend (I had known her for all of one day at this point) I arrived with, "Professor Sexy", realizes the error and begins feverishly scrubbing the lipstick off her teeth. “Dress Badly” maybe wasn’t the best translation of the party’s theme. Nope. “Pimps and Hoes” would have been way better. So here we stand in the midst of the most scantily-clad gorgeous Italian women and we are wearing things from Professor Sexy’s kids' dress up box. Not much to do but drink heavily. So we did. All of us. And danced. I discovered proseco that night and have never looked back. We had a fantastic time…after the Italians realized we weren’t leper immigrants.
This was our first translation error, but wouldn’t be our worst. I think I may actually hold the award for that, but that will have to be another post.
So back to me balancing on the edge of my bathtub… Yes, I think this will be acceptable for a backyard BBQ. AND since I had managed to dress like a 1950’s housewife, I decided to make a 1950’s housewife cake.
Yeah, exactly how my house looks for a BBQ.
you look lovely Kelly. Simply divine.
ReplyDeleteWow! Thanks Monkey!
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