(Before I explain why my early hours of 2012 were spent on a staircase, in the company of four fast-asleep friends, I would like to apologise to my loyal fans for the recent lack of posts. Sorry Dad.)
As the clock struck twelve and we waved goodbye to 2011 and heralded in 2012, I was full of a delightful mix of salt and vinegar crisps and vodka, standing on Embankment waiting for the fireworks over the London Eye, with Boyfriend and some of my best friends. Yet, rather than being filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling of joy for the new year and camaraderie for the thousands of people around me, I had a case of The Mean Reds that would have made Audrey Hepburn shiver in her little black dress and run straight to Tiffany’s.
If only I had been wearing a LBD of my own, perhaps I would have been more cheerful. I could put my bad mood down to the rain, or claustrophobia from the crowd, or the fact that we couldn’t actually see the fireworks, but I honestly believe my Mean Reds were the fault of my little red dress.
There is not much in the world that is more fun than a red dress. Whereas a LBD is understated and dignified, easy to dress down and easy to relax in, a red dress practically screams “it’s going to be a good night!” (as well as “back off if you’re wearing orange”), so every raindrop and every invisible firework hurt all the more. When wearing a red dress you should be the life of the party, not deep in a sulk. You should not be rained on, or lost, or locked out. You should definitely not end up walking for miles, only to find yourself sitting in a lobby listening to your friends snore, freezing cold, sober and exhausted, missing the party for which the red dress was bought. And the red dress in question was not just any LRD. It was a very, very little red dress that boosts your ego to a dangerous level as soon as you pull it over your soon-to-be-expanded head. (Getting it off again is a wriggly nightmare, honestly.) No wonder I was upset by the rain and the lack of front door key – I was practically a princess, or a goddess, or Kate Moss! How dare the universe allow me to be having anything other than the best night of my life?!
Had I been wearing my standard uniform of a LBD (or pyjamas, or a bin bag, or literally anything other than the very little red dress) my expectations would not have been so high. I would not have succumbed to The Mean Reds and been too self-involved to remember that rain and cold and poor navigational skills mean nothing when you have people that you love and that love you in return. The brightness of the red dress blinded me to whole spirit of New Year’s Eve. To the Aylesbury contingent I can only express my deepest sorrows that I did not tell you this at midnight (as well as my sincere apologies that I’m referring to you in connection to the black hole that is Aylesbury) but I really do love you all a quite embarrassing amount. Even Dylan.
And so, it turns out that I am not yet ready for the challenge of the LRD. My New Year’s resolution will be to buy more LBDs. As for my very little red dress, I must hang it up at the back of my wardrobe and hope that I shall, one day, be worthy of it.