Magic Moments...

I'm feeling a bit delicate this morning. It was our end-of-term dinner last night. And no, it wasn't the drink (I'm TT). It was getting ready for the event. No-one, but no-one, truly understands what short, fat, well-endowed (since the HRT) women go through preparing to go out of an evening, so I'll try and let you know. After a luxurious bath and around an hour spent grouting my face with make-up, I managed, after a short tussle, to get into my M&S Magic Knickers. These made it almost impossible for me to move throughout my abdomen area. I knew then that the tights were going to prove a problem, and so they did. Even though I was perched on the end of the bed, I found I could not turn my feet easily into the toes and ended up with a twisted mess around my ankles, which I then had to sort out, before embarking on a long and highly tiring adventure trying to get each leg up to my thighs and waist. How is it that tights can suddenly turn backwards on you half way up? Anyway, the battle with the tights was nothing compared to the war I was about to have with my new pair of boots, which only two days previously had fitted perfectly well and easily.On the first assault, I discovered I could not get my feet into the boots. My heels were getting stuck on a hard bit on the inside of the boot heels. I hauled and hauled, puffed and panted, but it was all to no avail. Thinking that the problem might be that my feet were slightly swollen from the hot bath (and the Magic Knickers---well, it has to go somewhere, doesn't it?), I declared an Armistice, went downstairs and did a relaxation exercise. Then I thought, perhaps it would work better if I rolled the boots down when putting my feet in. I tried this...yes, we were getting closer...more pulling, pushing and now stamping. Suddenly, both feet sank into position. Oh joy! Then I found I could't roll the boots back up. I thought perhaps this won't matter, and went upstairs to put on the delightful skirt and top I'd decided on for the evening's festivities. I looked totally and utterly ridiculous. Another 15 minutes was spent unravelling the boots, millimetre by millimetre, trapped finger by trapped finger, up my calves. Voila, I was ready....Now I only had to put my make-up back on (I'll leave you to guess what my face looked like my this time) and I could go out...The rest of the evening went swimmingly, though a couple of people did ask why I had my head propped up on the cruet.