As you know (well those of you who read yesterday’s effort) Mr D and I were out at a Burns Supper dance. As the resident Scotsman in our dance club, he was called upon to deliver the address to the Haggis. He was dressed in full Highland dress, kilt, hose, gillie brogues, sporran and, of course, a nice shiny Skean Dubh (aka the wee knife down the right sock!) with which to dispatch the poor wee Haggis.
Giving him the once-over before we left home, I was struck by how dazzling Mr D can look in formal dress, especially the kilt.
Not to be outdone, I unearthed my dark red velvet corset, the kind that’s designed as outwear. Normally I would have an outfit chosen at least the week before and tried on in case the clothes shrinking fairy has been on the loose. Not this time. DIY prevented me having easy access to my usual couple of dance club dresses. I was winging it!! Careful adjustment of the back lacing, much wriggling (thank you yoga) and I was in… sort of.
Mr D had to lend a hand to pull in the lacing, tie it off and hide it up the back. Unable to slouch or bend forward, getting the rest of my outfit on was a little tricky. However, it was worth it. When Mr D and I walked into the dance hall, one of the more senior couples declared us to be ‘a right pair of Bobby Dazzlers’.