Monday, December 21, 2009

Why I Am Late

Did you ever wonder why women tend to be late? Here is why. This is going to sound kind of sexist but it is entirely TRUE (for me, anyway).

Imagine, for a second, that a man and a woman both need to be at a nice restaurant at 7pm.

Man Schedule

6.30 - have shower.
6.40 - find and iron clean shirt.
6.45 - brush teeth, do hair.
6.55 - leave house.


Woman Schedule

5pm - Have shower. Feel smug about how much time you have before you need to go out. Watch some TV, try on clothes.
5.15pm - Suddenly realise that everything you own makes you look either old or fat. Try on every item of clothing you have ever owned, including those in storage, in the hopes that something will be magical item of clothing which will make you look like Scarlett Johansson and/or Halle Berry. None of them do, they all make you look like Kirstie Alley.
5.30pm - Fling enormous pile of horrible clothes aside and dig out trackpants and ratty old hoodie. Put these on. Go to the supermarket and buy wine.
5.50pm - Pour glass of wine. Decide to sort out clothes later as still have heaps of time. Make a start on hair.
5.55pm - Hair looks disgusting. How to fix this? Decide to cut fringe into hair.
5.57pm - Fringe was not a good idea. Abandon hair, drink more wine. Put on moisturiser so it has time to 'sink into your face' even though this does NOTHING and you know it.
6.03 - Moisturiser is still absorbing. Nothing to be done. Put on music, drink more wine. Still have heaps of time.
6.15pm - Shit! Realise suddenly that 7pm is approaching! Do not have heaps of time after all! Try on outfits again and decide to wear the first thing you tried on. Put this on with enormous sense of achievement. Drink some more wine.
6.20pm - Make half-assed job of cleaning fingernails. Wonder if maybe should cut toenails. Decide is probably not worth it.
6.22pm - Shove gnarly toenail through foot of only remaining pair of unladdered stockings. Fuck. Dilemma follows; wear stockings with small ladder up the leg, or huge hole in the crotch?
6.25pm - Lose balance putting on crotch-hole stockings. Wonder if perhaps it is the wine. Moisturiser has not 'absorbed'; face looks like surface of the Moon.
6.30pm - Try on shoes. Realise that they all make you look like a) your granny on bowling day or b) a hooker.
6.35pm - Suddenly remember amazing pair of shoes that will be just right with this dress! Turn the room upside down looking for them.
6.40pm - Remember that shoes are at work. Decide to sort shoes out later. Start putting on makeup.
6.45pm - Makeup is not working. Perhaps it is the wine? Scrape hair back into half-assed ponytail with hair elastic you found under the dresser.
6.46pm - Hair elastic breaks. Decide that hair down looked nice anyway. Try to ignore abominable fringe. Put on loud music and roar at self.
6.50pm - Now definitely out of time. Frantically throw makeup at face with one hand while swigging from wine bottle with the other.
6.55pm - Poke self in eye with liquid eyeliner. Fumble about for tissue and knock over glass of wine, which spills on dress and makes you smell like alcoholic. Spray huge amounts of perfume in hopes of smelling nice. End up smelling like alcoholic hooker; try and convince yourself this is better. Finish dregs of wine while pressing tissue to eye. Entertain vain hope that smudged eyeliner will make you look sexy. Put on closest pair of shoes, which are both uncomfortable and inappropriate; grab closest jacket, which does not match outfit. Realise look like homeless troll; laugh hysterically, attempt to drink from empty wine bottle.
6.59pm - Leave house. Have despairing fag. Hope there is wine at the restaurant.


(The backstory here is that I'm going out for dinner tonight - I am going to wear a dress and make an effort to look pretty and feminine, which is rare. I usually avoid gettin' all dressed up and ladylike as a) it is incredibly time-consuming and b) I am completely crap at it and end up stomping about the house looking like a tranny, being hugely resentful and raging incoherently about society forcing me to make an effort, etc. - wish I was a man & then all I would have to do would be wax my stunning mustache and I'd be good to go.)

9 comments:

otherworldlyone said...

That's almost exactly what my going out routine looks like. Only with longer intervals.

Hilarious.

*uncorked said...

Amazing. So true. Love your blog, got yourself a new follower!

Tooting Squared said...

You missed the bit where you leave the house wearing odd shoes from the "does this look better with these or these" experiment, which you forgot to conclude.

Or is that just me ...?

Michelle said...

other people have this experience too? Woo and hoo.

My version does not have wine, but instead has a husband poking his head round the door every 2 minutes saying "are you ready yet?" Less intoxicating, but more irritating.

wv: embroplo: small explosion brought on by embarrassing guy moment

donna said...

Iron? Men don't iron. I don't even iron...

Pegasus said...

I am sure you will look stunning in what ever you wear to dinner

Baglady said...

Yep, am definitely feeling this one. Also add in the handbag search for the one that goes best but that has been put in a "safe place".

(Did you know MLS tweeted you?)

IT IS ALLY said...

ow1 - yes, the exaggeration is minor

uncorked - thank you! I love followers.

Tooting - hahaha! I tend to ask the dog. He sniffs them both, then tries to eat his favourite pair.

Michelle - oh dear. Maybe one day he will understand? ha ha ha.

donna - I don't iron either. I just thought maybe if I was a man I might

Pegasus - thank you :)

Baglady - yes! I only have about 4 handbags (a sin, I know) but can only ever find the three I don't want.

aleph_naught said...

Apparently I am a woman. Minus the stockings and makeup, of course.