Dinner dance distress

Tonight, we're going to the Cricket Club Dinner Dance.

We'd just arrived chez in-laws this afternoon when my heart stopped. I had forgotten my dress. ****. The most intense hour of my life had started.

Distraught and trying to fight back tears, I sped into town with one hope: the country's smallest Monsoon. It has, like, three dresses. The chance for failure was massive and hung over me like a huge black rain cloud about to dump.

In the car park, the ticket machine gobbled up my money and spat out the wrong ticket. The pressure increased; I only had one hour to get this mess sorted.

I dashed to Monsoon as fast as my legs would carry me, without drawing any attention to my panic. Heart pounding, I entered the shop.

Dress 1 was ugly. My blood pressure rose. Dress 2 I desperately wanted to think would look good, but realistically was always going to look awful. Dress 3 needed to be good. IT NEEDED TO BE GOOD.

Sitting at home drinking tea in front of the log fire, The Boyfriend was blissfully unaware that, in the cold and dark of the town centre, I was teetering on the edge of crumbling into a million pieces and he was going to have to pick me back up and put me back together again. A million pieces is a lot of pieces.

But back in the shop, divine intervention was about to happen. Out of the corner of my eye, amongst the granny-wear, I noticed sequins. Delicious sequins. Could it be that I was about to be saved?

Not taking my eyes off the sparkles in case they disappeared, I made a beeline for dress number 3. In the space of half an hour, I had turned into a crazed magpie.

They had my size and on the hanger it looked good. Very good. So I darted through the rails and ran to the changing rooms, nearly knocking over a small child in the process.

I ripped off my clothes and pulled the dress over my head as quickly as I could and BEHOLD, thank you God, it fitted and it looked good and I hadn't ripped off any sequins in my feverish haste. In fact, it looked better than good. It. Was. Friggin. Perfect!

It was so perfect that the blow of the price tag didn't make me fall over. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't filled with joy at the damage my bank balance was going to have to take, BUT, I didn't fall over. And desperate times do call for desperate measures and all that.

But THEN, I realised that buying Easy Living Magazine last week had happened for a reason. I grabbed my handbag and hurriedly started fishing around in amongst all the receipts (gulp) and other detritus to find - ta da! - my shiny £20 Monsoon Gift Card, smiling up at me.

A-men.

So, I am about to get ready to go and, miraculously, I'm going to feel good. Phew!