Leg O'Mutton & Poached Eggs

One of the Great Benefits of having a daily photograph taken of One's Outfits is that you can clearly see where you went wrong.

And we're all desperate to know that aren't we?

You don't have to look v. hard to see Today's Mistakes in the photo above. Let me walk you through them in a series of Numbered Points.

1. Bad Bra. I must stop wearing cheap little sports bras that merely push your tits together tightly without Pushing Them Up, creating the appearance of a couple of poached eggs. With the high waisted skirt & the huge flower, it looks like they're hanging around my waist.

2. Leg O' Mutton sleeves. I'm not quite sure if this is a universal term or one that is peculiar to Australia. These sleeves were popular during Edwardian times so perhaps they are also known as Edwardian sleeves. Or maybe Edwardian Shoulders.

Let's not get too Obsessively Technical.

Oh dear! I'm getting distracted. It's after 9pm & a man who's been sitting in the bus shelter across the road since mid-afternoon is now loudly shouting 'F...Off' over & over.

I know how he feels. But I must get back to My Outfit.

Now I can't think of Another Point. And I was desperate to make at least three if not four Numbered Points.

Perhaps you can think of one.

When Before Meets After

I'm sure I've mentioned my recent conversion to The Style Network. And how I'm desperate to have my Own Show on it. I can't decide what to call it. Originally I thought it would be called 'Style Me Middleagedteacher'. But I also quite like 'The Middleagedteacher Project'.

The Style Network is completely devoted to The Makeover. Every show is a makeover. And its Mantra Slash Motto is 'When Before Meets After', which absolutely tickles me pink for some reason. Why couldn't I have thought that one up?

Instead, I'll just Steal It. After all, Picasso said, 'Immature Artists borrow, Mature Artists steal'. And let's face it, I'm Nothing if Not Mature.

So this blog entry is A Makeover.

Look above at the Poor Old Woman dragging a little wagon of rotting potatoes behind her. Never mind that the potatoes look like a large block of wood. Trust me, they're potatoes.

That was me back in March. I do urge you to click on the link & read my Poor Little Old Blog Entry from back then where I moan on & on about not wanting a therapist but wanting instead a Fairy Godmother.

Since that time, things have Moved On. I'm now onto my Fourth Therapist who is a Medical Doctor Slash Psychotherapist. And he really does resemble a Fairy Godmother.

Perhaps Dorothy was right when she wisely said (or was it Glinda?) that 'wishes do come true'.

Anyway, that's the Before part of the Makeover Blog entry.

And here's The After.

Christmas Wish List: Number 1.

Ever since Velvet, a wonderful Irish Horse Vet came to my Regular Sunday Dinner last sunday night, I've been desperate for a Companion Miniature Horse. Velvet knows these wondrous creatures who look uncannily like something out of Harry Potter.

Sadly, miniature horses do NOT make Practical Pets if they don't have unlimited access to The Outdoors as apparently, they are NOT amenable to Potty Training. So a small horse couldn't live in an apartment like mine, although Velvet suggested that miniature horses, who incidentally are about the size of a small labrador can be fitted with disposable nappies.

But can you imagine changing the nappies? How would One even attempt to do it?

Its such a pity as I've even got a name picked out: Verdell.

Ever since I fell in love with that little dog called Verdell in the film 'As Good As It Gets' with Jack Nicholson & Helen Hunt, who now looks like an Aged Rodent who's been trapped for too long in a maze, I have wanted to have my own Verdell.

Oh, & Another Thing. I had visions of my Companion Miniature Horse sleeping on the bed like my Dearly Departed black toy poodle Bill used to do every night. Velvet poured cold water on that idea as well. She didn't think small horses did that sort of thing.

But you know what? Suddenly, a dim, far-off memory is coming back to me.

I'm sure some years ago, my great friend & colleague, Trixie told me about a TV programme she saw about how miniature horses were becoming like Guide Dogs & were now able to sit up on planes in their own seat next to their owners.

Perhaps I dreamt this as I don't think that horses see v. well.

Before I sign off, just to prove to you HOW mad I am about horses, I have seen the film 'Seabiscuit' which is the true story of a champion horse from humble beginnings during the Great Depression Many Many times. I once watched it six times on a v. long plane trip to LA.

I swear I did.

Style Me Middleagedteacher

I feel blocked.

I type.

And then I delete.

Perhaps its the heat.

I can see that I'm going to have to take Drastic Measures.

That means only One Thing:

Numbered Points.

If I could make this line rhyme, it would be A Poem.

Perhaps it is anyway.

A Middleaged Haiku.

1. Yesterday, Lily, a fourteen year old student of mine told me & the class that when she found out about sex, she still believed in Santa. Everyone else in the class nodded in recognition. Fifi, another student said that a seven year old that she teaches dancing to told her that 'Three', sung by Britney Spears was about 'a threesome'.

2. I want my own show on 'The Style Network' which has just this past two weeks finally arrived in Australia. Last night I watched 'Style Me Famous' where a substitute teacher who just missed out on being a dwarf was given a makeover to look like Towering Inferno Gweneth Paltrow. I can't think of one celebrity who I would want to be madeover to look like.

Oh, maybe Tori Spelling.

My show would be called 'Style Me Middleagedteacher'. Each week, one lucky contestant would be taken thrift shopping to my favourite store, 'Bednobs Etc' by me where I would personally select a whole wardrobe for her. Then she'd get her own photo shoot complete with Wind Machines in my classroom next to the whiteboard. Maddie, my Personal Classroom Photographer would take the photos.

3. In almost eight days, I'm going on Summer Holidays. The school will shut. This year I'm going to enjoy it & not trawl around the streets of Potts Point for seven weeks like a poor old woman dragging a little wagon of potatoes behind her.

4. I love Bubble Skirts. Yesterday when I was trudging home from school I became Gripped With Panic when it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps they'd gone out of fashion & I hadn't noticed.

Thankfully, I quickly remembered that I Don't Give A Stuff About Being in Fashion.

I'm Done With Tilting At Decorative Windmills.

Welcome Back to the Wonderfully Wide World of Self-Obsession!

Phew! What a few days I've had.

So far, I'm doing badly with Climate Change. Yesterday Sydney had the hottest November day in Recorded History. At 3pm, the Mercury hit 43 degrees c. Isn't that a wonderfully arcane term? I'm sure the good people at Google don't use an instrument containing mercury to tell them how hot it is. Or a weather vane in the shape of a hen either.

Talking of Google, last night I was sooo hot that I got out of bed where I had two fans mercilessly blowing on me to check the temperature at 12.30 on my Google Home page. It told me it was 24 degrees c.

I didn't believe them. It felt far hotter. I stomped back to bed wondering if dying from Being Hot felt like being smothered.

Earlier in the day, I took refuge in a tepid bath. It did nothing.

But when I was getting out of it, I received a Nasty Shock. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of the back of my thighs in a v. low-lying bathroom mirror. I had never seen them from this angle before.

I was Rivetted. How could I have dragged them around all these years & not known what they really looked like?

I'm now at the point of the story where I want to make some salient point or other. Maybe an Important Realisation. A Universal Truth. Or maybe just some Slightly Self-Loathing Remark.

I can't think of anything:

It gets hot. I go sit in a tepid bath. I get out & catch my thighs in a low-slung mirror. They look Craterous. I'm shocked. That's It.

Oh, I know the point. It was so that I could make up An Entirely New Word. I bet you've never heard the word 'Craterous' before, have you?

Today the temperature more or less went back to Normal. Whatever that is.

But I didn't.

Look look look at me applying lip gloss while I'm tilting at Decorative Windmills.

Now, there's a term that I've never known the meaning of. Until now. I had it going around my head like an Earworm so I consulted The Oracle, Wikipedia & found out.

Yes, I've always thought that there's an enormous resemblance between me & Don Quixote. But that's all about to change. No more windmills . Or dragons. They don't exist except in Harry Potter.

Oh, here's something about me that you would never have thought.

I'm a huge fan of Harry Potter. But that's a whole other story.

Meanwhile, do look at my Toy Chanel outfit. Such a pity that the huge black flower that I had artfully placed on my waist is not really visible. Sue, my Close Colleague commented that she thought it looked like it was growing outside of me like an external fetus.

Perhaps I should hop into bed before this blog entry gets any weirder.

Mary & The Three Wise Nurses

Look Closely.

Can you see that I've updated my V. Premature Xmas Decorations?

I was soo thrilled to find these Novelty Tins of chocolate chip cookies at my local supermarket, Woolworths Potts Point.

What could be more festive than a Small Gaggle of Helpful Nurses, I ask you? And a couple of V. Butch Grenadier Guards thrown in for good measure.

I think that I can confidently say that this particular Xmas Tableau is Complete & for me to continue to keep adding to it would be Gilding the Lily, which incidentally, was one of my Father's favourite sayings. He would always say it when discussing Oysters.

There was a time in the sixties, when every time I went to dinner with my parents at some restaurant, I would order Oysters Kilpatrick, which were grilled oysters lightly swimming in Worcestershire Sauce with Little Dainty Sprinklings of Bacon on top served back in their shells. I mainly ordered it to annoy my father. Without fail, Dad would say 'Eating oysters any other way than just with lemon is like gilding the lily'.

Now there's a story that really didn't go anywhere. But hey, it's friday night. And I'm All Storied Out.

The Human Muppet

The Human Muppet
Originally uploaded by middleagedteacher

Tonight is Fashion Night on my TV Set.
First it was 'The Rachel Zoe Project'. This week Rachel & her hubby Rodger Rabbit & her assistant Little Butch Brad went to Fashion Week in Paris. They stayed in a big, swanky hotel, went to all the big shows, visited Coco Chanel's apartment, met Karl Lagerfeld & John Galliano & turned their collective noses up at eating snails which I thought was a shame because they looked quite tasty all perkily sitting up together in a little silver dish.
I was bored witless.
The only reason why I watch this show is to test myself to see if I feel envy. Or is it, envious? How would I know? I don't even know what A Dangling Participle is.
Do you think I'm envious of Rachel & her Devoted Hubby & all her stuff? Maybe Maybe Not.
After Rachel, it's The Fashion Show which is exactly the same as 'Project Runway' except it's got Isaac Mizraaahi in it.
So now both shows are over & it's getting Dangerously Close to My Official Bedtime.
But before I hit the sack where I'll be listening for a v. short while to Marianne Williamson telling me in her soft Southern American accent on my iPod that Yes, I Really Can Change, I must v. briefly have my own Fashion Moment.
Look Look Look at me.
Have you noticed that I'm looking more & more like A Human Muppet? Perhaps it's my freshly dyed & waxed eyebrows that's causing the resemblance. I'm not sure.
And look at my dress. It's Nothing Special. But look at it anyway. I wonder what Rachel would say? 'OMG.....OOC (out of control) perhaps.
I, of course bought it at 'Bednobs Etc' & have reason to think by the aged appearance of the label that it might be almost legitimately vintage.
Before I hop into bed. Happy Birthday Anna for tomorrow.