something fictional.

So day 12 of Blogtember is all about writing a fictional short story with the first sentence: "To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century.". Ok so I kinda have an overactive imagination and thought this one would be easy; think again. It turns out I have too many thoughts and writing something fictional, short and somewhat acceptable was harder than I thought. But I made it...finally!

To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century. Firstly, dinner party's upset my balance; all that forced interaction with people you don't care for really makes for one uncomfortable evening. 

And being a food writer always makes for those awkward conversations like "so what would your review say about tonight". Err I am not working now and fyi I charge by the word! It's like asking a comedian to tell you a joke or a doctor to give you an on-the-spot diagnosis. 

And then there was the fact that Emma was one of the most insufferable women I have ever met. She had that perfect air about her. The I-am-effortlessly-pretty-and-can-tackle-anything-that-anyone-throws-at-me look whilst always looking immaculate and being nicer than snow white. How do those women do it? Do they never have a bad day? Do they wake up with a smile and a full face of make-up? 

I had been procrastinating for too long now and I had just 15 minutes to get ready; bravo Amy. Not only was I dreading such an evening but now I am going to turn up late, looking like crap and sweating cause I ran from the tube station in an effort to not be so late that I look like I don't care. Marvellous. What an entrance that will be. 

And there I was, still sitting on the floor in the bathroom painting my toenails which I will inevitably cover up with tights and some sort of boots which vaguely co-ordinate with the dress hanging on the back of the bathroom door. 

Unfortunately I don't have a Carrie Bradshaw closet. So if there was one thing that was going to make me feel better about tonight, it was a new dress. And in these sort of situations, new dresses can come from one place and one place only. Burberry. 

Maybe I was channeling some sort of Emma Watson style; however the similarities between me and her ended at the same hair cut. Well it was purchased now and the labels had been hastily removed because the price tag felt like it was screaming at me from the bathroom. So there was no returning it. And there was no going back on this evening. I had run out of excuses and now was the time to suck it up, put on my mascara and endure 4 hours of dreary conversation with people who claim to be my friends and no nothing about my life. 

As I stepped off the tube my heart felt like it was in the bottom of my stomach and I half wished the nice lady telling me to mind the gap would be silent for one minute so I could fall down said gap and all my problems would be solved. Ok so maybe throwing myself onto the tube lines was a bit dramatic. 

I had walked at a casual place so as to not look sweaty but all the thinking about tubes and platforms had clouded my brain and I was now standing outside the perfect duck-egg blue front door. Even her front door was perfect for goodness sake. If I had a black marker pen it would be the perfect opportunity for some impromptu graffiti. 

I rang the doorbell and waited. And waited. Oh good maybe the party's cancelled. 

Just as I was about to turn and run away, the door opened. And the smile I had perfected for Emma's benefit was almost smacked off my face as I looked up to see him. And the only thing I could say...."what the hell are you doing here".

Well the Burberry dress was a good investment wasn't it!