Party Day Panic!

Streaks, Stripes and Slight Panic

Party Day Panic!

So, it’s the day of my party. Yay! (Sort of.)

I decided to fake tan my legs last night with an ancient bottle of St Tropez. Last seen when I was still listening to Spice Girls unironically.

Woke up this morning and… I now resemble a yellow-and-white striped zebra. If zebras had ankles that looked like bruised bananas.

Panic set in.

Husband, clearly blinded overnight, said they looked "fab."

Umm. They don’t!!!

Meanwhile, the hairdresser decided I’d look great with yellow streaks (highlights), maybe she was just trying to match the legs?

She assured me it looked fine. It didn’t. I looked like I'd head-butted a lemon meringue pie.

Second time lucky, she redid it and to be fair, it’s the best she’s ever done. So now I’m a slightly more glamorous zebra.

Not sure if I’m being ultra-sensitive or just a raging perfectionist. Probably both. But hey, I’m sort of looking forward to tonight. (Nervous laugh.)

THEN… husband drops a bombshell.

He’s planning a “surprise.”

God help us all.

His surprises are usually a cross between a flash mob and a midlife crisis, more “trauma” than “treat.”

After some arguing and suspicious negotiations, he promised to “dilute it.”

Dilute what, exactly?!

He said it’ll be “fun.” Which, from him, is a code for mortifying but filmed for posterity.

I’m banking on everyone being just drunk enough to forget whatever nightmare he has in store by morning. Fingers crossed.

Right, off to do my nails, dig out my tight knickers (please send me thoughts and prayers), and now to make a mad dash to buy black tights to hide the stripy legs.

Oh, and my husband just suggested I go listen to “soothing music.”

Translation: “You’re spiralling and I’m scared.”