Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Addicted to the drama-Part Deux

So there I am on the weekend, scouring just about every store in the city to find a decent powder-blue dress (or 'frock', as my mother still calls it - a term, that I have tried to remind her many times, people stopped using circa 1963) that fits me well, and doesn't make me look like a cross between a mermaid and a crazy bird. I finally find one that looks rather nice, and I am praying, that if there is a God in heaven, I will find the perfect shoes to go with this dress. Nothing, nada.

This sounds like a job for B. B, I'll have you know, is the equivalent of Imelda Marcos in my life, because, honestly, I have never personally known anyone who owns so many pairs of shoes. And she kind of views me as the equivalent of a homeless person when it comes to shoes, since I own only about 30 pairs at last count. But I figure that since I am not Gabrielle Solis from Desperate Housewives, I can live with myself. I call her.

ME: When it comes to shoes, is there a HUGE difference between powder-blue and baby-blue?

B: D-uh!! (and knowing B as I do, I can picture the eye-roll that accompanies this)

ME: I need powder-blue shoes to match my dress and I can't find them anywhere!

B: Okay, send me a picture of your dress and I'll have them sent to you. You're about a size 7, right?

B has this amazing ability to take one look at a person's feet and guess what size they are, and retain this information for further use, quite like the guy at store from where I buy lingerie, who has the ability to look at a woman's chest and hand her the right size bra, which is a considerably more creepy skill, but you get the idea.

I wait till the package arrives, which is pretty quick, considering that she lives in another country. I don't know how she manages to get those shoes to me, and in record time too. I just know that I get a box with a note that said 'These will be perfect.' And they are. Trust her to swoop right in and save the day. She's my very own Lara Croft. I take a moment here to wish that God (or whoever's responsible for dishing out useful abilities ) had given me the ability to be clairvoyant, or read auras, or even read bloody tea-leaves, which would only be fair for having given B preternatural powers such as this.

So, feeling rather smug that I had managed to get my act together before the big day, with time to spare and all , and realising that she would be so envious that I was so perfectly and uniformly powder-blue, I wait for DQ to call me, which she does after a couple of days.

DQ: Well, I have good news!

ME: Yeah, me too. ("I am perfectly coordinated in powder-blue from head to toe, baby!!!" I want to yell, but decide to play it cool.)

DQ: Well, since it was impossible for me to get the correct shoes, I told Annie about it and she totally understood.

ME: So you're going to wear baby-blue shoes with a powder-blue dress? ( I have to bite my tongue and hold my breath to stop myself from snorting in contempt)

DQ: Are you nuts? No way! Annie was a doll about the whole thing, and she has decided to change the theme of the whole wedding to cherry-blossom pink, just for me. So now you can shop for pink instead. Gotta go now! See you at the rehearsal! Byyyyeeeeeee!!!

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