Pink Satin and Black Velvet

We've been invited to a fancy dress party. You cannot begin to imagine how ridiculously exciting this is. It's not even being held by racist, beer swilling miners! It's being held by a group of our potential new best friends. 

We procured this invitation at last Saturday's anti-uranium mining rally. Many of the town's concerned citizens gathered on the council lawns to register their outrage over the mining site

 Angela Pamela (personally I prefer calling it Pamela Anderson, but it's up to the individual.) Many a cruel word was spat at my love god, Peter Garrett. I found it extremely distressing.

I feel the same way about Peter Garrett that my mum feels about me committing violent crime. She always says to me, "Even if you murdered someone, I'd still love you." This is usually a preamble aimed at tricking me into confessing the smoking of illegal substances or the acquisition of body art. I'm not trying to trick Peter Garrett into confessing multiple nipple piercings or anything, but the point remains that the affection I feel for him is so strong, so true, it cannot be shaken. Not even by a group of my potential new best friends shaking their fists and dreadlock-ridden heads at him.

But the point is, that I'm going to an extremely cool fancy dress party tomorrow night. The theme is "Escape from the Circus." I have spent the majority of my weekly budget (which in this case constitutes sixty bad boys) on the most fabulous outfit of all time. I may have to be shoe-horned into my pink satin negligee, and I may explode out of it unceremoniously at the party after eating one too many cheezels, but my god, it will be worth it.