Monday, 23 November 2009

Day Two as La Price

Day Two

I have discovered putting makeup on is ridiculously hard- false lashes and false nails don’t mix as I stuck part of the crease of my eyelid together and now have a massive blob of sudocream on it to attempt to end the pain.

Nor can I cook. Not a massive issue normally, but I thought I should take up the mantle of Yummy Mummy (chapter 3) But you can’t do anything at a normal pace and cooking takes forever.

I am, I admit, beautifully smooth and golden brown in hue. I am officially the darkest I have ever been with limbs looking, well sort of healthy and slimmer, definitely slimmer- who knew dayglo white was so unflattering? My face, on the other hand, is orange. Which I can’t really fathom as I’ve used the same stuff all over, it’s definitely a smooth, all over colour, but a violent shade of tangerine. And my sheets are pretty unusually looking too.

I decided to start living the life a little more a la Pricey, as I realised I have received any male reactions yet. In the chapter ‘Sex Kitten’ aside from her advice to keep it in your pants for the first month (REALLY Katie; Pete? Gareth? Alex? Dwain? I’m sure the list goes on) there is some excellent advice on what to wear when meeting up boys.

“ If a guy was coming round for the evening to watch a DVD I’d make sure I got his interest by the end of the night. I’d get all dressed up in long socks with little shorts - really sexy and girlie, but not obviously trying too hard – so they’d be thinking ‘mmmm, she’s really cute…’ meanwhile I’d be thinking ‘dream on mate, you’re not getting none of that,’”

Really nice. I’m pretty sure this is how you can get in serious trouble. So I decided to try this classy style out to garner a response for my friends. Wearing some tweed shorts, knee high socks, a t-shirt declaring ‘I heart ME’ a false ponytail and, obviously, fake nails, lashes and bling I rock up to Unsuspecting of Tunbridge Wells.

To give credit where it is due, the first minute of stunned observation was incredibly polite. Once I had explained the premises of the outfit and they realised that I hadn’t just taken leave of my (limited) fashion sense the well-brought up boys dropped their niceties and the claws came out.

Andrew, a doctor, began a diatribe:“It’s hideous, can you please quote that? Hideous. But I think that the outfits are going to get worse.” He went on to request “the real Katy back now?” 

My best friend James took the insults a step further by informing me that I looked “cheap, tacky and orange…I can’t even look at you.” James refused to sit next to me, and then when he finally conceded, after 10 minutes of silence, he farts in my general direction.

Yes, you read that correctly, a boy was so disgusted by my outfit, a boy, who in eight years of friendship has never done such a thing, farted at me.

His logic? “I wasn’t farting at Katy, I was farting at Jordan.”

I think this is a definitive failure on the advice front.

All I can think about it’s the fact that more leg is on show than on a chicken in Nandos, and the fact that everyone (quite rightly) is making a judgement on why the hell I’m dressed like this. how someone enjoys this?

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