I'm travelling to the Fall Out Boy gig in Glasgow by plane and the carry on at the airport is already getting me pre-infuriated. I am becoming annoyed at the prospect of having to take off stuff I haven't even put on yet?! (My husband says I can't go to bed dressed in my travelling clothes. What?! I like to ready in plenty of time.....it's my thing. I have never pretended I was cool. If I was cool I wouldn't have a blog.
I have this fantasy thing that amuses me greatly, of getting to the security check, and when I set off the buzzers and they go through the carry on with their paddle thing, of just slipping a hand up my back, unclasping, and WHEECHING my bra out of my sleeve, going: "I believe this may be what you are looking for, Sherlock. It's a new fangled contraption called an under-wired bra. Invented in the 1900s (poss. 1800s) for elevating one's bosom. You've heard of them? Then why the hell are we going through this freaking pantomime, you dick, sorry, dickess." Ocht, flaming heck, that's the least of it. I'll have to take the clasps out of my hair, take my lace-up boots off (bet I have Xmas socks on again), take off my necklace, unclip my fob watch, and that's before they discover all the drugs I have stashed!! (The contraceptive pill and my asthma inhaler - see! told I wasn't cool!!!). So, you might say, why put all that stuff on in the first place when you know what's going to happen? BECAUSE! OKAY - JUST BECAUSE.....that's how I dress, I don't do...none metallic, sans bits and pieces - tsk, may as well go in my PJs if that was the case. HEY! THERE'S AN IDEA. I'll just get dressed in departures - see how they like that :)
Love, Big Dxx