Saturday, 30 September 2017

I Get A Little Carried Away...

You know that feeling you get, when you realise something about yourself and it's kind of half-revelation and half "oh GOD, I've been trying to pretend I'm not like this for about twenty years"?!  I had that, recently.

I've always known that I have this habit of living in my head and making things bigger in my mind than they might be in real life.  I can remember years ago, having an insanely massive crush on a guy who worked in town.  I recall waving at him one day and him waving back and smiling, and let me tell you, I analysed those four seconds for about A WEEK AND A HALF.

"Did he know who I was, or was he just being polite?!  What kind of smile was that?  Flirty?  Friendly?  Did he have wind?!"

So, my own ability to take things to the "Nth degree" has never been in doubt.  But I always thought of it as an internal thing.  One of those Emma-isms that people would only know about if I specifically told them.  After all, unless you happen to be chummy with a clairvoyant, most people you hang out with can't tell the ridiculous notions running through your head.

The trouble is, it turns out that my habit of getting carried away has, for want of a better phrase, broken free.

My weird, internal thoughts are SOARIN', FLYIN'...

Yes, I am no longer able to restrict my habit of getting carried away to just fantasies in my head.  It turns out, I get carried away with everything.

In a couple of weeks' time, I'm going to an 80s disco with some friends.  I was already looking forward to this, when one of my friends suggested something that awoke the beast within me.

She suggested we dress up.

Just like that, my secret tendency to get carried away with things was a secret no more.  Because, within days of the suggestion, I had been out with another friend and dragged her to various fancy dress outlets, searching for "the ultimate 80s outfit" to wear to the disco.

I returned with rainbow leg-warmers, yellow lightning bolt earrings, chokers with neon shapes on them and a glittery rainbow hairband.


My plan was to wear all of the above with a pink strappy top, a black ra-ra skirt and pink fishnet tights.  But suddenly, as I played Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go on repeat for the nineteenth time, that outfit sounded too safe.  A plain, pink strappy top?!  WHAT WAS I THINKING?!

Hours after getting home from my shopping trip, I went onto EBay and ordered a Choose Life t-shirt, too.  Because why not embrace the cliché completely, if that's the road I'm going down?!

There.  Now, I was finally satisfied with my sartorial choices.

That is, until my mum piped up: "You know, jazzy leggings were really in, back then.  Instead of a skirt, you could have gotten some shiny or metallic leggings, maybe."

Just like that, I was back on EBay.  One pair of pink, metallic leggings later, the outfit was done.

Except now, I'm trying to refrain from also buying a neon pink sweatband.


Of course, once the dam had been breached, I realised that it had never really been fully plugged in the first place.  I've always been someone who gets carried away with stuff.  

If I'm baking a cake, I want it to look like something from The Great British Bake Off (and I have a worrying habit of talking to an invisible camera whilst I'm cooking - shut up and don't judge me).

When I used to go away to Butlins' Halloween Ball every year (also 80s themed; what a shame I can't make use of this oufit twice, next month!), I would insist on decorating our room with skeletons and garlands, even though we barely spent any time in there, unless we were sleeping.  

And my bank account would - if it were capable of speech - tell you, possibly through wild sobs, of the number of times I've promised to stay within my means at Christmas and not go mad on presents for everyone, only to end up scrabbling down the back of the sofa for loose change, come January, because the risk of dropping into minus numbers is so very, very great...

All of this has made me wonder about the times when I do exercise self-control.  Do I not drink until I throw up because I'm capable of not getting carried away, or is it just because I suffer from an enormous phobia of vomiting?!

Perhaps I'm not as calm and in control as I like to think.  It turns out that when I have a reaction to something (be it excitement, fear or pleasure), I'm liable to get a little carried away as a result.  Maybe I'll spend all day wondering about what a wave from a cute guy actually meant, or perhaps I'll spend all my money on garish 80s-wear.  The point is, once an idea is in my head, I seem unable to do anything but run with it.

My friend and I have just booked a Beauty And The Beast themed afternoon tea, for next month.  So, if you'll excuse me, I need to end this blog, so I can go and look online for Belle costumes...

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