The Family Stone

I feel a lot like Meredith, but I’m not like Meredith and my boyfriend is nothing like her boyfriend and there is no family stone that I’m after or rather he’s going to make me wear.
Gulp, I hope!
See, I’m going to meet his family on the 3rd and one day on the 3rd the 3rd of October would dawn and I will have to show myself. I tried in vain to pull all sorts of little stunts. I told him that I might get violently ill (somehow my caring nerves preferred telling him NOW about my impending illness) or I might have something else that warrants my attention. But unfortunately he has seen through the obvious lies and hasn’t been merciful, so I guess I must show up this Saturday.
Like Meredith I don’t know what the appropriate outfit should be. The confidence that I seemed to have when I whined about the perfect outfit to meet the parents in a post I wrote aeons ago seems to be of little use. So, I’m sitting here, wide eyed mentally going through my wardrobe.
The pristine white shirt? Too formal and too Meredith.
The rock tee? Too disturbing and too me. It’s good I guess to let them take me in small doses, after all I wouldn’t like it much if they all decided to freak out and have a heart attack.
The cute spaghetti top? Too revealing.
His family is somewhat conservative and we Burghers have a reputation for being everything else other than conservative. I can’t be bothered with the clothes, I’ll just probably grab whatever I see on Saturday and stomp there. But one thing’s for certain though it won’t be a dress!!!

Now that the clothes are sorted I have bigger things to worry about. Meredith had a hard time trying to make conversation at the dinner table, in my case it would be a lunch table (doesn’t sound as good as a dinner table eh?). The thing is I’m one to talk but the language worries me considerably, they converse in Sinhala and I on a normal day can mutter some strange thing. The problem is when I get nervous I tend to freeze and when I eventually thaw, I’d most probably say something stupid. So yes I worry about things like that, wouldn’t you?
I guess I’d also have to behave. I can almost hear mum giving me a rulebook of 10 things to do and a 100 things not to…
# No screaming and running in the house.
# No laughing loud.
# No slurping and guzzling drinks.
# Always smile.
# Be polite and nod in acknowledgment.
I’ll probably follow her advice closely, because I also tend to daydream constantly and it won’t be much of a surprise if a conversation did go like this…
B.F mum: Would you like some chicken?
Me: Yes please
B.F mum: Would you like some rice?
Me: Yes please
B.F mum: would you like a sharp poke in the eye?
Me: Yes please
Oh dear! I guess I’d leave them with a great first impression, one that spells ‘unintelligent neurotic dyslexic all smiling freak’! Well I dunno, maybe it would be fun, maybe it would go horribly wrong. On the bright side if it does, I’ll have another story to write home about.

No strings attached

Fashion and its fashionistas are funny things, watching high street fashion is like watching a sordid comedy series. The most recent revelation disgusted my brain cells so much that I thought some form of written disapproval was necessary.

What’s this newfound item of annoyance? It’s none other than the C – string. Well it’s like a G- string, only it hasn’t got any strings, instead it’s got a wire that promptly fits into the crack between your bum cheeks (apologies for being crass but how else would you explain such a monstrosity?)

I’m perplexed by this invention, as much as I was perplexed with the G-string. When I first heard about the G-string from giggly teenage girls, I was curious like most 14-year-olds forced to wear training bras. Then one day I caught sight of it in a yuppie mall, my surprise gave way to a yelp like someone had physically kicked me in the stomach. Yes I was that surprised! I took one out and dangled it in front of my mother, I knew a barrage of angry words would come flowing from her but she uttered “Disgraceful!’ and smacked my hand so hard that I let it fall back into the disgusting heap. I chuckled because I was happy, at least she wouldn’t force me to wear that, couldn’t win the battle with the bra though.

A good number of years went by until I couldn’t hold onto that firm resolution because see I had to wear skirts like all proper women and as all women know, visible panty lines are goday, totally gross, so yes G-strings were the way forward. Few wedgies later, I decided that I wasn’t going to put myself under so much stress, because trying to get rid of a wedgie in a car or a roomful of men is worse than visible panty lines. So I went underwear shopping and found cute boxer shorts or hot pants (whatever you wish to call them) and found that life was indeed comfortable.

On that note I’m NOT going to end my post, instead on a high note I’m going to continue my tirade about the disturbing G-string. Most women don’t wear them to hide panty lines. I know this because most women who do wear jeans. Now what’s there to hide when you wear a pair of jeans? I’m not talking about the obvious but yes if the obvious was hiding matter then a bunch of strings won’t do. So here’s what I think, G- strings have become a fashion statement became some strange woman decided to bend in front of a hot Adonis. That’s what these women do, sexily strut their strings wherever possible. Can’t blame the men who watch, it’s actually quite a show. The other interesting fact I’m amused with is the amount of women who claim that it makes them feel good, it’s like they ooze some sort of sexiness just by knowing that they’re wearing these sexy lingerie. All fine and good but why not choose a sexy French cut knicker then? It’s evident that the only reason why a woman would wear a G-string is to tease and please the male mind. So we choose to be swathed in a bunch of strings, uncomfortable as a man seated on a bicycle bar just for our sexual esteem. Oh dear, I feel like echoing my mother’s wise sentiments “DISGRACEFUL!!!”. Sorry, that must have been a bit loud.

I’m done with the G-string, I don’t want to talk about the C- string or the sanitary pad as I call it. It’s just putrid!!!

If you haven’t already seen a C- string, Google images. It’s far too disgusting to showcase on my blog!