ChockerBlog’s Fashion Fixes

Ladies…

They’re called skinny jeans because that’s what you need to be to wear them, not because that’s how they will make you look.

Women whose age does not end in ‘teen’ must not wear butterflies.  Anywhere.  Ever. 

It doesn’t matter how thin you are, white pantyhose will make your legs look like raw sausages. 

Trackies have their place, which is at home where no one can see you in them.  And having ‘juicy’ or ‘babe’ scrawled across the arse of them does not in any way make them better.

Boobs should not be the force behind buttons that are threatening to ping off and take out someone’s eye. 

“Less is more” does not mean less clothing is more attractive.

A g-string poking out the top of jeans should be treated like a catapult; pulled back as far as it will stretch, loaded with burning pitch, then released.

Gentlemen…

Yes you do need more than two pairs of shoes, neither of which should ever be crocs.

The only place for cartoon characters is TV, not on your satin boxers and certainly not your tie.

And while we’re talking about undies, they should not be satin, or any pretend variant of.  They should be cotton only.  It’s a scientifically proven fact* that anything else will make your willy shrink.

I’m not even going to mention boxers sticking out the top of jeans, because anyone stupid enough to do that is bound to also be illiterate therefore will never read this so I’d just be wasting valuable blog space.

Those hilarious t-shirts with captions such as “FBI - Female Body Inspector” or “Tell Your Boobs To Stop Staring At Me” will not get you laid.  Trust me.

The only way I should be able to smell your aftershave is if I sniff your face.

Shorts that end just past the knee are fine.  Anything longer isn’t,  unless you’re planning on teaming them with a nice wedge heel and a floral headscarf.

*it must be, surely

punc•tu•a•tion

The key phrase here is “…in writing or printing…”.

Not drawn in the air.

We’ve all seen someone do air quotes.  Heaven forbid, most of us have probably actually done them. 

This must stop. 

You don’t end a question by drawing a big question mark in the air.  Nor do you finish a funny or surprising piece of news with a large air exclamation mark. 

So why do it with air quotes?

We’ve evolved to communicate with tones and inflections so that what we say is only half the message, how we say it is just as important.

In my experience they are most often used by someone who feels that they are superior to the rest of us, and that their irony must be physically punctuated so as not to be lost.  The implication is that their air quotes are actually subtitles for dummies. 

Next time someone uses air quotes at you, ensure that when you reply you slap them around with a few commas, then poke them in the eye with a full stop.

The Right Way

A new secret friend of mine was telling me this week how she’d hung something up in her wardrobe, but then had to go back and turn it around so it was facing the ‘right’ way.

She couldn’t quite bring herself to just walk away.

I totally related to this, and observed that she would’ve had to actually remove the item from the hanger, turn it around, reattach it, then rehang it.  Otherwise, the hanger would have hooked over the rail the wrong way.

Towels must be folded the right way: in half, then half again, then the other way in thirds, but with the edges on the inside of the folds. 

I’m fortunate enough to have a man who does the laundry, but unfortunate enough to have a man who can’t fold towels. 

MM* starts by folding them long ways.  I know! 

I sit on my hands and say nothing until he’s finished, then when he leaves the room I quickly refold them all the right way. 

And stack them by size.  

In separate piles for each colour group.

The drinks in the fridge door have to be in the right order.  Coke, then juice, then milk.

The end of the toilet paper must always sit away from the wall, not against it.  This is not negotiable, and applies to every toilet I use, even when visiting.  MM is of the opposite opinion, and in the seven years we’ve been together we’ve been waging a silent bathroom war.  We both turn the toilet roll around the ‘right’ way every time. 

Before I eat M&Ms/Pebbles/Smarties, they need to be sorted by colour.  Then I eat all the stragglers so that each colour group has an even number in it.  Then I determine which colour group has the least number, and eat enough from all of the other colour groups so that there’s the same number left in each group.  Then I eat from my least favourite colour to my most favourite.  In twos.

Hmm, did I just go a bit too far there?

*My Man

Size Matters

Today's pet hate is the fun-size chocolate bar. 

If I didn't know any better, I would assume a fun-size chocolate bar was enormous.  Big enough to roll around on.  To lounge on while reading a magazine.  To host a dinner party on. 

The implication is that a "fun-size" chocolate bar is far superior to a normal-size chocolate bar.

But we know that not to be true, don't we.  Fun-size chocolate bars are the exact opposite of what they should be.  What could possibly be fun about a smaller-than-normal-size chocolate bar?

The answer is, nothing.

They're more expensive by weight. 

There is an expectation that you share them.  With other people. 

The chocolate itself is too small to break in half, so you can't empty all the calories out before you eat it.

They're bad for the environment with their dinky little individual wrappers.  Which, by the way, are a bastard to open. 

The bags they come in always tear right down to the bottom and they all fall out.

Fun-size schmun-size.  Boycott them. 

Double-dare

You're walking along and suddenly realise that you have a) forgotten something, b) passed the place you were going to, or c) gone the wrong way.

Why is it that we can't just turn around and walk in the other direction? 

We've got to stop and check our phone, or our watch, or mutter to ourselves like a mad person before we double back.

Why?

We don't know anyone around us.  Chances are we'll never see them again.  In fact, they probably haven't even noticed us.

Yet we feel the need to make such a song and dance about switching directions. 

I'm laying down the challenge:  next time, just turn around and walk the other way.  I double-dare you.

Remember when music was analogue?

Do you remember...

...putting your tape recorder up to the TV when RTR Countdown was on to record "Like A Virgin", only to have it ruined by your mum walking in and talking half way through.

...waiting for the radio announcer to stop talking with your fingers hovering over Play and Record, ready in case he played a song you liked next.

...stopping, rewinding, playing, stopping, rewinding, playing your favourite songs so you could write down the words.

...dubbing a friend’s Talking Heads tape using High Speed Dubbing on your double cassette player, thinking you were on the cutting edge of technology.

...forgetting to set the counter to zero at the start of the tape, so you’d have to guess where to stop fast forwarding to find your favourite song.

...playing a tape so often it got stretched and the music would go all weird like it was being played underwater.

...the sadness when the cassette player ate your tape, especially in the car.

...the joy when you managed to cut away the damaged part and splice the ends together with sellotape and it actually worked.

...wondering if you'll fit one more whole song at the end of your C-90.

...taking the tape apart so you could swap the reels over to play it backwards and hear the subliminal messages.

You have... one new message

Hi you’ve reached the voicemail of <insert name>…

Yeah, I know who I called.

…I can’t answer the phone right now…

No shit Sherlock.

…but if you leave me a message with your name and number…

Ooooh, so that’s how this fandangled message thingumy works.

…I’ll be sure to call you back.

Leaving a message is not exactly rocket surgery is it.  So why do people still feel the need to spell out all the steps required in the process?

Worse still are those people who actually leave a message.

Hi, it’s <insert name>…

Yeah, I know, heard of caller ID?

…it’s 10.30am on Wednesday morning…

Seriously, people actually still do that.  You know who you are.

…I was just calling to…

Ok stop right there.  We are no longer in the 80s.  We all have email now.  And texting.  Not to mention a wide variety of social media at our disposal.

It’s just a pain in the neck.  You have to dial the number to access voicemail.  Then enter your PIN.  Then listen while Robot Voicemail Man tells you that you have   *pause*   one new message.

Then you have to listen to it.  Then replay it cos it’s not quite clear (sssh I’m trying to listen) or you have to write something down (where’s a pen) or just cos your mind wandered (ooh, a bird).

Goodness knows how many voice messages I’ve got on my various phones.  I don’t listen to them.  I don’t delete them.  Eventually they will expire and disappear into the ether never to be played back.

Send me a text people.  Or email me.  Write on my Facebook wall even.  

If you don't have my mobile number, or my email address, and you're not my friend on Facebook then there's a good chance you're after me for money. 

If that's the case, please leave me a message with your name and phone number and I'll get back to just as soon as I can.