Monday 16 September 2019

Invited to a barbecue by your husband's friends? Then do not ask him what to wear

'What does one wear to a barbecue anyway?' I ask Himself, throwing potential outfit after outfit on the bed.

We'd been invited to one with all his sporty friends, people I had very little in common with because a) I'm not sporty and b) I'm not sporty. It was important to get the ensemble right because God knows what I was going to talk about.

'You'd swear you'd never been to a barbecue before,' he replied. Obviously I have, but really just family ones where no one gives a toss what you're wearing. The only thing they're interested in is who gets the biggest steak.

The problem was, I don't really do 'casual'. I'm either dressed up to the nines or looking like a down-and-out. There is no in-between for me. So being invited to something that's an informal social event is a major sartorial dilemma.

I try on a black leather skirt and red high heels. 'You look a bit like a hooker,' he says. He normally doesn't have a problem with me looking like a hooker but I think he was trying to give the impression to his sporty friends that we were healthy wholesome people.

Next I went for a yellow strappy sundress. 'You'll freeze to death.' I was getting seriously annoyed. 'Well what should I bloody wear then?'

'Jeans,' was the answer. I hate jeans. Anyone who is a short arse like me hates jeans because we look like midgets in them. But it had started to rain and I had gotten past the point of caring what I looked like so I put on my jeans and a hoody. I know. I can't actually believe I even own a hoody.

Off we set with the beer, wine and tart I had bought in the local deli. We knocked on the door to be greeted by our host looking fabulous in a sexy little mini dress and high heels. I shot Himself a death stare which he completely ignored.

In we went and as she went off to get us drinks she told us to put the tart on the table which was already laden with yummy desserts - all home-made by her various guests. My tart still had the price tag on. 'Hahahaha, you're the only one who bought a cake,' he laughed.

Our host then brought me outside to introduce me to everyone. I walked out into the garden to be met by an array of glamorous ladies all dolled up in dresses, low-cut tops and high heels. I, on the other hand looked like I was going to mug someone's granny.

Himself was cute enough to know to stay well away from me although he did shout across the patio: 'Would you like a burger, Love?' Grrrrrrrrrrrr...

And the moral of this story is: NEVER listen to your husband when it comes to choosing an outfit - and take the price tag off your tart if you're going to buy one.

Wexford People