Near miss

Nothing like narrowly avoided humiliation to make you feel grateful for mere existence, is there? I went to the loo at work this morning, came out of the cubicle, washed my hands, pouted at myself in the mirror, mentally criticised about thirty six elements of my appearance and admired about nine, and then turned to walk out the door. As I turned, from the corner of my eye, I spotted a potential thirty seventh criticism, and reversed to look again in the mirror. And thank goodness I did. For the first time in (my) living memory, my dress was tucked into my tights. This is probably every woman's worst nightmare. Forget the Special K bitch prancing around in her boyfriend's oversized shirt, her eyes saying 'Look at me, all toned legs, unreasonably white teeth and glossy mane'; in Real Life, there is very little that is less sexy than normal woman's bare buttocks and backs of thighs below a shirt. A fully naked rear view is one thing, but like a starkers man in socks, female nudity appears to be a kind of all or nothing deal. Cover those same buttocks and thighs in tights, and tuck the shirt into the waistband, and I don't know about you, but it's not my idea of an erotic masterpiece. So you can appreciate my joy that I had managed not to stride between the ladies' loo door, the water bubbler and back to my desk with this most sensitive of areas revealed to the assembled masses. It was, in short, an excellent start to the day.

Since then, I've been running in the snow and. That's it. Last night I went to choir practice where we were being filmed by the BBC for some reason that will never be aired, and we were all a bit hysterical as a result. At one point, someone was making an announcement saying that if people were running late, they should phone someone in the choir, and that if they didn't have anyone in choir's number they... "were a total loser" I finished off, in a Green Day / surfer dude accent, to slightly lower than my usual hit rate of around 76% laughter and 24% awkward silence. Feel bad now. Then again, merely being in a choir is normally considered a fairly loserish thing to do so I guess we all need to come to terms with that at some point. Plus I'm sure they'd miss me if I never said anything at all - can't win 'em all...

Am also grumpy because I spent all morning trying to get tickets for Traviata or Aida at the opera house, except if my boss is reading, in which case I spent the morning streamlining office efficiency and upping revenue. Anyway, I couldn't get onto the ROH webpage or through to their phone line as today is the first day of booking, but a few minutes ago I finally managed to access the website and all seats under £170 are sold out on all dates. Gah. I haven't been to the opera for months and was really in the mood. But hey. I've got a fun night lined up for tonight, a fun few days ahead, I'm off to see Nic at the weekend and my skirt isn't tucked into my pants. [Double checks]. Nope. My skirt isn't tucked into my pants. Things could be worse.