THE GLAMOUR SNOB

I asked your expert opinion once
On my chosen dress for your party
Because in matters of fashion I'm a genuine dunce,
Whereas you are really quite arty.

You frowned as you looked me up and down,
Then you laughed out loud and said
That actually I resembled a clown;
Or, perhaps, more the living dead.

You explained that my makeup was far too pale
To be worn with so white a dress.
You said all I'd have to do is wail
And your guests would flee in  distress.

'That ghastly pallor is ghostly you see,
And your dress is too baggy and loose.
Plus you really should let your hair hang free.
When it's up you resemble a moose.

Such platinum hair needs a hint of gold
And your eyes need enhancing with Kohl.
Like me, you must learn to be more bold
And emerge from that self-conscious hole.'

So you accompanied me on a shopping spree,
Chose a catsuit in black and gold -
So tight I had to go underwear free.
For this image I felt too old.

'Nonsense,' you said, 'you're younger than me,
And now for some matching shoes.'
And the pair you chose couldn't possibly be
Any higher or my balance I'd lose.

Then in the salon my face was painted
And my hair tinted 'autumn gold'.
When I gazed in the mirror I almost fainted.
For me, this look was too bold.

But then who was I to contradict you,
The ultimate glamour snob?
So I teetered along that night with you.
But it was no easy job.

You plied me with cocktails until I was squiffy,
Then enticed me up to dance.
My heels were too high, the floor too slippy.
I never stood a chance.

The entire club was suddenly struck dumb
By the mortified heap on the floor
Whose catsuit had split from boobs to bum.
It couldn't have revealed any more.

Since then I've never ventured near
Nightclub, dance floor, nor you.
My colour's washed out and I tremble with fear
At the sight of a high-heeled shoe!