Since Friend-Karen waltzes about in an Audi soft-top, looking as though a Versace franchise threw up on her, I feel a bit of a pikey turning up in my latest Primark purchase. At this stage though, my get-up tonight is definitely coming down to either that, or a polyester stand-off between Tesco and something created in that famous home of couture, George at Asda.
I haven’t seen Friend-Karen since late last year mainly because her dead high-powered job keeps her on the move a lot, so she only blows into the country every six months or so. Since I took GCE ‘Dicking-About-In-The-Woods-Trying-To-Impress-The-Cool-Kids’ at school and she was industriously working away on her ‘Being-Smack-In-The-Right-Place-At-The-Right-Time’ course, our lives have gone in pretty different directions.
While hers has taken her to glamorous meetings on Wall Street, I personally, only managed to get as far as the notoriously infamous cul-de-sac, divorced with two kids and stretch marks.
Friend-Karen also provides about two thousand of her closest friends with a quarterly newsletter which keeps us all up to date on her movements. The Teenager has taken to stashing mine in his room the minute they pop cheerfully through the door, presumably to prevent another repeat of the legendary cup-throwing-hissy-fit of 2008.
I swear she makes half of it up and is actually living in a bedsit in Golders Green with ‘roaches and a mould problem.
With that cheery possibility in mind, I shall now head off to transform myself into a vision in nylon.
Make-up by Envy, in an unattractive shade of green.