What a tumultuous time it has been recently; not only have I failed to meet the man of my dreams but, I had to endure one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. Yes, dearest reader, that is right – I, the distinguished and elegant lady of Richmond Upon Thames, had to endure an out door dance event, complete with music that pierced my ladylike eardrums like a samurai sword to an acorn. Now, I know what you are thinking, you are thinking, how on earth did I, with my beauty and grace, end up at such a despicable event that I believe some may describe as a ‘rave?’
It was a normal enough day – I had visited Plump Susan (you know the one, the one who is to marry, immanently) in her grossly oversized house in Richmond Upon Thames. We had sat in her floral kitchen, sipping on Jasemine tea, which Plump Susan had gleefully informed me, had been farmed in the forests of some unpronounceable Chinese town and costed a mere £20 per cup. Despite Plump Susan’s obvious bragging, which is simply not becoming, I was having a terrific time with her and she was actually helping with suggestions of how I might meet the man of my dreams.
‘Oh darling, you simply must attend this party I have heard about..’ The dribble of Jasemine tea on her chin distracted me some what.
‘Party? You know how I like to have a jive!’ I threw my body around in a mock jive.
Plump Susan had just looked at me.
‘It is tomorrow night, in a place called Brixton – I have not heard of this town but I am sure it will be simply divine. There will be men folk a plenty… I guarantee it.’ Plump Susan’s upper gum exposed itself as she smiled.
And that was that. How was I to know that the event was not a swing party, but indeed a dance event in a less than desirable location?
I had picked out an outfit that would be fitting for such a presumably glamorous event- I went for a beige pencil lined dress that had intricate sequinned details in the shapes of butterflies and roses. My footwear was daring – high patent heels that were not too high as to make me look like a lady of the night but just the right height to extenuate my taught calves.
The minute my taxis had pulled up to the location, I knew this was all a terrible mistake. I glided out of the taxis, wafting my hair around in the afternoon breeze whilst forming a soft pout with my lips. The exit from the taxis instantly got me some male attention; I was greeted by a man, smiling like the Cheshire cat, who did indeed compliment me, however one cannot even begin to repeat what he wanted me to do to him and where he tired to put his hand. I was begginning to realise that perpahs with was not the party I thought it was.
After fending off the unwanted male attention, my ears had then suddenly pricked up and took in the music, where was the beautiful Swing or Jive music? All I could hear was a robotic rhythmic thud and some keyboard like jingles. And, the sight. Oh dearest reader, I cannot begin to describe the sight before me. I could see the little white stage on the horizon which was surrounded by the cockroach patrons of the dance festival who threw their bodies around like they were possessed. It was devastating. My hopes of meeting Mr Right were dashed and I was trapped in this terrible borough of London. Needless to say, I did my best to escape as quickly as I could.
The experience has left me somewhat resentful towards Plump Susan.
I hope my times improve over the coming weeks,
The Boston Wife x