Livy, Livy, Livy....

It was mentioned to me by a dear friend that la blog (for she is a girl) hasn't been graced with the wedding dress story. No, not that wedding dress story.

This one:

Now you remember how I often, inexplicably make things complicated for myself? Yep? Good. Because this is one of those stories....

Once I had purchased the dress, I began the long wait for the dress to actually arrive. And then, one fateful day before Christmas, I got a call. She was here!

I therefore rang to make an appointment to try her on and therein found the problem. My dress shop, fabulous as it is (and it is), only allow try on and fitting appointments between 10am and 2pm Tuesday to Friday. And I would need four of them.

I asked if they would make an exception, I mean, I didn't have the holiday time to just waste away on two hour fittings every couple of weeks and I was pretty sure my boss would suspect 'dentist appointments' every other week but alas, they were firm with their rule.

So, thinking quickly, I explained that I was a primary school teacher (I'll point out now that I work in PR) and therefore could not just abandon my class of six year olds for a few hours each time. And bingo! I was suddenly granted 4.30pm appointments on Friday afternoons.

And that should be the end of the story. Except I couldn't keep my mouth shut.

No, I had to tell the staff about the adorable little year 1s I taught. I'll say right now that I didn't actually want to expand on the myth. I truly didn't. But when you are standing on a box in a beautiful dress and a woman holding very sharp pins asks you how work was that day, you really have no choice.

So off I went, on how I have a little girl called Emily who cries every day for one reason or another and how I have learnt that it is just an attention seeking device and have methods to deal with it, how I have a little boy called Daniel who eats crayons, how I have identical twins called Ruby and Flora who always try and trick me by switching seats and on and on....

It was all going swimmingly, I had the shop assistants enraptured by my hilarious tales and I was feeling like a wonderfully funny human being who was fabulous in every way.

And then the shop owner arrived. A lovely woman who, like the others, got absorbed in my stories. And then asked me which school I taught at.

Again, thinking on my feet, I mentioned the school my brother attends, I mean, I can name some of the teachers and vaguely know the layout...

Shop Owner: Oh my goodness my friend's boy goes there - Connor, he's seven do you know him?

Me: Ummmm.... there are a few Connors.... I haven't taught him.

Shop Owner: Shame. My little baby, Jake, we would like him to go there, what is the best way to do it?

Me: Ummmmm..... do you live in the village?

Shop Owner: No, is that important?

Me: They do go for residency first but I'd apply and get his name down. It is a very good school so there is demand but then, some of the other local schools are very good as well. Have you considered any others?

Shop Owner: No, we want him to go there, they have a great reputation and you seem like such a nice teacher. Shall I call the head and say I know you?

Me (super, super fast): No! Really, no need for that. How old is Jake?

Shop Owner: 7 months

Me: You have ages of time, if I were you, I'd wait at least a year before making that appointment.

Shop Owner: A year?

Me: Definitely. Anyway, how is the hem looking?

So now, having possibly ruined a 7 month old's chances of a good education, the dress finished and just waiting to be picked up. And I can escape from the web of lies.